“I’m going upstairs.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Aren’t you going to divorce me—or would that hurt your career?”
“You’re not yourself, Gage,” said Helen. She had regained a loose hold on herself. “I’d sooner not talk to you any more to-night.”
He flattened the end of his lighted cigarette and pulled the chain of the table light.
“Then we’ll talk upstairs.”
“Not to-night.”
“Yes, we will, Helen. I’m lonely for you.” He came to where she stood. “Come along, my dear.”
There was not a tone in his voice that Helen could recognize. A kind of ugly caress—she shuddered.