"Yes, ill," she said mechanically.
At this moment the house became still. She rose with a return of energy and signaled him that she was ready. Five minutes later they were in the automobile fleeing uptown.
A moment of weakness was rare in her life, yet she comprehended it without seeking to delude herself.
"At twenty I should not even have trembled," she said to herself, sinking back into the cushioned seat and watching the lights of the streets flash past the window with a comforting emotion of speed. "Now it is different. Every life has one supreme opportunity—this is mine. I know it."
Had a woman been at her side instead of Beecher, she would have given her confidence in the terrible necessity for sharing the emotion that was too vital to her. As it was, she restrained herself, remaining silent by a last effort of her will, but her hand on the window-frame began a nervous syncopated beating, imitating the click of the fleeing rails which one hears on a railroad train.
"You are feeling better?" said the young man in a troubled voice.
"Open the window—just for a moment," she answered.
The sudden blast of cold air, damp as though laden with the tears of the city, terrified her with its suggestion of despair and defeat.
"No, no, shut it!" she said hurriedly.
He obeyed and then to distract her, began: