"Are you going, too?" she asked.
"Not until you do," he said boldly.
Helen blushed furiously and glanced at Cleland, but he had not paid them any attention, apparently, for he rose with an absent air and went into the house.
"Steve!" he called from the foot of the stairs. "I'm going to town to-night, if you don't mind."
There was no answer. He ran lightly up the stairs and glanced through her door, which was partly open. Then he went in.
She did not hear him, nor was she aware of his presence until she felt his questioning hand on her tumbled hair. Then she turned over, looked up into his anxious face, stretched out her arms to him in a sudden passion of loneliness and longing, and drew him convulsively to her breast with a little sob of surrender. And the next instant she had slipped through his arms to the floor, sprung to her feet, and now stood breathing fast and unevenly as he rose, half dazed, to confront her.
"Jim," she said unsteadily, "I had better go back. I'm losing my head here with you—here under dad's roof. Do you hear what I say? I can't trust myself. I can't remain here and tear dad's honour to shreds just because I've gone mad about you.... I'm going back."
"Where?"
"To Oswald."
"What!"