Edgar had reached the door again now. He was not hurrying her, but there was a look on his face that seemed to say that all she needed was a hat and a rug for the steamer.
Such a very different thing from a carpet to roll round her——
She had risen unsteadily from the sofa. She crossed the floor and stood before Edgar, looking earnestly up into his blue eyes. She moistened her lips.
"What's happened——" she began in a whisper....
He interrupted her only to make the slightest of forbidding gestures with his hand; her own hands had moved, as if she would have put them on his shoulders. And she saw that he was quite right. At the touch of her his control would certainly have broken down. She went on, appealingly and almost voicelessly.
"What's happened—had to happen, hadn't it?" she whispered. "You felt it sweeping us away too—didn't you?... But need we say any more about it to-night?... I want to think, Edgar. We must both think. There's—there's a lot to think about—and talk over. We mustn't be too rash. It would be rash, wouldn't it? Look at me, Edgar——"
"Oh—I must go——," he said with an impatience that he had not to assume.
"But look at me," she begged. "I shan't sleep a wink to-night. I shall think about it all night. It will be lovely—but torturing—dear!—But you'll sleep, I expect...." She pouted this last.
"I'm going away," he announced abruptly.
"Oh!" she cried, startled.... "But you'll come in to-morrow?"