She went right on sewing until the little task was done. Then she bent over and bit off the thread with a jerk of her head. She put the needle in her shopping bag; then pursed her lips and studied the little gold watch on her wrist.
Finally she looked up, and our eyes met.
“Anthony,” she said, very quietly, “what if I should n't go?”
I got up and walked back and forth between the table and the door.
“Oh, Heloise,” I broke out, “why do you say this now?”
“Why not?” said she.
“Can't you see that our judgment is worth nothing now—nothing at all. We've made our plans.”
“Do you want me to go?” she persisted, her eyes half hidden behind drooping lashes, but on me every instant.
“Do I want you to go?” I almost mimicked her. My voice was rising, and she got up and slipped swiftly past me, closing the door and leaning back against it, still watching me. “Do I want to give up the most wonderful thing in my life, and turn back, all alone to my work?” I choked. “You know better than to ask such a question. It is foolish. You must not say such things to me. I can not bear it.”
“Then,” said she, “why on earth are we doing it?”