"Sit down here, Ruby—near to me."
She sat down. With the very madness for movement thrilling, tingling, through all her weary and feverish body she was obliged to sit down quietly.
Nigel sat down close to her. There was a silence.
"Oh," she said, almost desperately to break it, "we haven't had coffee to-night. Shall I—would you like me to make it once more for you?"
She spoke at random. She wanted to move, to do something, anything. She felt as if she must occupy herself in some way, or begin to cry out, to scream.
"Shall I? Shall I?" she repeated, half getting up.
Nigel looked at her fixedly.
"No, Ruby, not to-night."
She sank back.
"Very well. But I thought you liked my coffee."