Her lips moved. She meant to yield at once—to give him his answer now, irrevocably.
Instead, she said, faintly, “I’ll write—to-night. Where are you staying?”
He looked at her entreatingly a moment; then, feeling in his pocket for a note-book, he scribbled an address on a leaf torn from it.
“Cecily!” he whispered as he gave it to her. “Cecily!”
Mechanically, as though urged by some force outside herself, Cecily got up, and began to descend the steps. He followed her. They walked back through the gloomy avenue in silence. Just before they reached the terrace, he took her ungloved hand and put it to his lips.
“Will you let me go back alone?” she asked, under her breath.
“You wish it?”
“Yes, dear.”
He stepped back to let her pass, and as she did so, she looked up at him with appealing eyes.
“I will write to-night, Dick,” she said, very gently.