"Because of poor mother, you know."
"Oh, of course." He put a bonbon in her mouth.
"What a nice baby it is!" he said softly, stroking her silk knee.
He knew himself to be a fool, but all that evening he let himself remain on the rack, wondering; wondering if she'd relent; if her stoniness wasn't just a mood, and if it hadn't passed away; wondering if he couldn't break down that unnatural opposition in her. And when at ten o'clock she rose and nodded "Good night," he detained her, asking again urgently:
"Can't we—can't we—be as we were before?"
"Thank heaven, no!" she replied, with a tiny shudder.
Osborn looked at her narrowly and spoke crudely:
"Do you know, if I were like some men, I should tell you that I wouldn't stand such fool nonsense; and there'd be an end of it?"
She went a trifle paler, but displayed no fear. "Don't you dare!" she said between her teeth. "I'd leave you next day."
Again he went a little way up the corridor, but stopped before the aloof reserve of her look.