“But you are going to? You are? You are?”
“On my—on my soul, yes, Clemence!”
There was a moment’s silence, broken only by her low, tremulous sobs; then these too died away. At last, with a long sighing breath, she raised herself and looked into his pale, miserable face, with her own quiet and exhausted.
“Must you wait?” she said, with an indescribable accent on the first bitter word. “Must you?”
“I—I must, dear!” he said desperately, his eyes trying wretchedly to avoid hers. “It shan’t be long, I promise you; but I must wait just a little longer!”
She paused a moment, still looking into his face. Then, with a sudden light in her eyes, she made a slight movement as though she would have bent his head down that she might murmur in his ear. She stopped herself, however, and there settled down upon her face a look of unutterable sadness. By Julian, in his helpless misery of self-contempt, the gesture had passed utterly unheeded.
“Don’t let it be much longer, dear!” she said. “Good night!”
Julian caught at the last word as though it gave him some sort of chance of restoring his writhing self-respect.
“Good night!” he echoed. “Not yet, Clemence! I’m going to see you home, of course!”
But Clemence shook her head.