She had reached the landing above. She bent over, looking down at him in the dusk.
“Did you understand?”
“I—yes, I think so.”
“That I want you?”
“Yes.”
“It is true. I want you always. I’m just beginning to understand that myself. Please don’t ever forget what I say to you now, Dulcie; I want you. I shall always want you. Always! As long as I live.”
She leaned heavily on the newel-post above, looking down.
He could not see that her eyes were closed, that her lips moved in voiceless answer. She was only a vague white shape there in the dusk above him—a mystery which seemed to have been suddenly born out of some poignant confusion of his own mind.
He saw her turn, fade into the darkness. And he stood there, not moving, aware of the chaos within him, of shapeless questions being evolved out of this profound disturbance—of an inner consciousness groping with these questions—questions involving other questions and menacing him with the necessity of decision.