She flushed painfully, looking straight ahead over the steering-wheel along the blinding path of the acetylenes.
"I am very sorry," she said, "because I had—had almost concluded to tell them—everything."
"What!" he asked, aghast.
Her eyes were steadily fixed on the fan-shaped radiance ahead which played fantastically along the silvery avenue of palms and swept the white road with a glitter like moonlight streaming over snow.
"You mean you are ready for your freedom, Shiela?"
"No."
"What do you mean?"
"That—it may be best—best—to tell them ... and face what is left of life, together."
"You and I?"
"Yes."