"Now I know you for the true man Jean has praised," he said, gripping Paul's hand. "But I can't take her away. She has a responsibility—we both have a responsibility it's impossible to shirk. Tell him, Jean!"
The dentist squared his shoulders in the old way, when she ceased.
"I'll see that Amy reaches headquarters," he said doggedly. "Neither of you need go. There isn't the slightest necessity. I'm her old friend, the lessee of this flat: who would be more likely to act for her? You convince her that she must toe the mark—I can't undertake that part; and then, the sooner you leave, the better."
Atwood turned irresolutely toward the window and threw up the shade as if his physical being craved light. Jean met the straightforward eyes.
"Why should you shoulder it, Paul?"
Bartlett shot a look at Atwood, who nervously drummed the pane, his gaze fixed outward; and then, with a sweeping gesture, invoked the silent argument of the room.
"I guess you know," he added simply.
Her face softened with ineffable tenderness.
"I'll tell Amy you are here," she said.
The men heard her pass down the hall and knock; wait, knock again, calling Amy's name; wait once more; and then return.