"Say good-night now," she said.
"Not yet. I'm going to walk back with you."
They walked back in a silence that guarded the memory of the mystic thing.
They lingered a moment by the half-open door; she on the threshold, he on the garden path; the width of a flagstone separated them.
"In another minute," she thought, "he will be gone."
It seemed to her that he wanted to be gone and that it was she who held him there against his will and her own.
She drew the door to.
"Don't shut it, Gwenda."
It was as if he said, "Don't let's stand together out here like this any longer."
She opened the door again, leaning a little toward it across the threshold with her hand on the latch.