She released his arm, tried to get up from her chair obediently, blinded by tears and groping in the starlight.
“Let me guide you——” His voice was strained, his touch feverish and unsteady, and the convulsive closing of her fingers over his seemed to burn to his very bones.
At the stairs she tried to speak, thanking him, asking pardon for her tears, her loss of self-command, penitent, afraid that she had lowered herself, strained his friendship—troubled him——
“No. I—want you,” he said in an odd, indistinct, hesitating voice.... “Things must be cleared up—matters concerning us—affairs——” he muttered.
She closed her eyes a moment and rested both hands on the banisters as though fatigued, then she looked down at him where he stood watching her:
“If you had rather go without me—if it is better for you—less troublesome——”
“I’ve told you,” he said in a dull voice, “I want you. You must fit yourself to go.”
“You are so kind to me—so wonderful——”
He merely stared at her; she turned almost wearily to resume her ascent.
“Dulcie!”