"Dave," she said.
He turned quickly in his seat; the light fell on her face and he saw her; he was on his feet and had taken a step toward her. Then he stopped, and she saw his features harden as they had on that dreadful occasion which now seemed so long ago. Would he turn on his heel? If he did she must rush upon him. She must tell him now, she must plead with him, reason with him, prevail upon him at all costs.
"Well?" he said. His voice was mechanical, but in it was something which quickened her hope; something which suggested that he was making it mechanical because he dared not let it express the human emotion which was struggling for utterance.
"Let me talk to you, Dave," she pleaded. "I have followed you around the world for this. Let me talk. I can explain everything."
He stood still so long that she wondered if he never would speak. She dared not reach her hands to him, she could only stand and wait.
"Irene," he said, "why did you follow me here?"
"There is only one answer, Dave. Because I love you, and would follow you anywhere. No one can stop me doing that; no one, Dave—except you."
