He let her go to the door itself, vowing he would not make the advance.
When the door was half open, something in him cried: "Wait!"
She closed the door softly, but she did not immediately turn round. The palms of her hands were wet with the cold, frightened sweat of that awful moment. When she returned, she came to him with a wondering, timid, girlish look in her eyes.
"Oh, Jack, if you only could!" she said, and then only did she put out her hands and let her fingers press over his heart.
The next moment she was swept up in his arms, shrinking and very still.
All at once he put her from him and said roughly:
"What was his name?"
"No, no!"
"Give me his name," he said miserably. "I must know it."
"No—neither now nor at any other time," she said firmly, and her look as it met his had again all the old domination. "That is my condition."