“Go back.”
“Go back?” he said, startled, and looking at her with a puzzled frown.
She nodded. “Yes, it is time.”
“Why do you say that? It’s very strange that you should say that,” he said evasively and turning from her he flung down in an easy chair outside the circle of light, so that his face was concealed in the shadow.
“Because it is time,” she said quietly, “and—because you want to go.”
“The idea!” he said laughing nervously. “Haven’t I refused again and again?”
“Yes, that’s so.” She hesitated a moment, then added: “Mr. Dan, won’t you tell me, honestly, just why you have refused?”
He began instantly, a little too hurriedly.
“Why, Inga, it’s very simple. I should think you’d understand. It’s just the very thing I shouldn’t do. I should think you of all people would realize—you’ve heard me say it often enough, that the one thing an artist should do is to keep to himself. Why should I go out to amuse them? They’ve only a curiosity to see a new animal. Heavens, you don’t mean to say that you want to take up society! Inga, that would be amazing!”
“No, that’s not what I want but it’s no reason why you shouldn’t go.”