“I know. It’s asking everything of you.”
Jean waited. She felt that she had gained a certain amount of ground—that Nick’s resolution had weakened a little in response to her pleading, but she feared to drive him too far. She fancied she could hear steps crossing the hall below. If someone should come upstairs and disturb them now, while things were still trembling in the balance——
“See, Nick,” she began to speak again hurriedly. “You believe I’m your pal—yours and Claire’s?”
“I know it,” he replied quietly.
“And—and you do care a bit about me?”—smiling a little.
“You’re the third woman in my world, Jean. After Claire and my mother.”
“Then, to please me—for nothing else in the world, if you like, but because I ask it—will you let things stay as they are for a few weeks longer? Just that little while, Nick? We’re going to London next week. That’ll make a break—bring us all back to a calmer, more everyday outlook on things. Will you wait? Sir Adrian may never strike Claire again. And it wouldn’t be fair—just now, at a time when she is feeling horribly bitter and humiliated from that—that insult—to ask her to go away with you. Give her a fair chance to decide a big question like that when things are at their normal level—not when they are worse than usual. To ask her now would be to take advantage of the feeling she must have, just at this moment, that her life is unbearable. It wouldn’t be playing the game.”
He made no answer, and Jean waited with increasing trepidation. She was sure now that she could hear footsteps. Someone had mounted the stairs and was coming along the corridor towards her room.
“Nick!” The low, agitated whisper burst from her as the steps halted outside the door. “Promise me!”
It seemed an eternity before he answered.