She did not see that her Suffrage work had interfered with that of her home, that her own involuntary neglect of her children had sapped her influence.
"I should not ask for Jill's advice!—What does she ever care for mine? She will go her own way—to the end!—And so shall I."—Her voice rang with a new imperious note. Stephen saw he had gained the day.
"Mary!"—his arms were around her. "You will...? You do ... care a little?"
Triumph flamed in his face but the fond woman saw only love.
"Wait——" she drew back, timid again. "I must think first. It's too serious. I can't answer you like this..." But the man held her still closer.
"You can—you shall!" He knew his power—"I want you. You shan't go from here—except as my promised wife! It's either that—or good-bye." He felt her quiver at the word. "I can't stand it any more—this playing at friendship—it's not fair! Say you love me—say it, Mary?" There came a desperate little pause.
Mrs. Uniacke felt the room spinning round before her eyes. In a mist she saw her lover's face, heard the ardent, pleading voice...
And the sense of a dream returned to her—a dream too sweet to relinquish. She must not—could not wake again!
With a stifled cry she kissed Stephen.