Left alone, they tried to regain their air of high romance.
"Poor Mary!"
But the words rang hollow. One couldn't possibly call a woman poor who had given away so much with a single gesture.
They tried to talk it over but found nothing to say. At last Mills took Dulcie home. She asked him in and he went. Aunt Priscilla was out, and tea was served for the two of them from a lacquered tea cart—Orange Pekoe and Japanese wafers. It was delicious but unsubstantial. Dulcie with her coat off was like a wood sprite in leaf green. Her hair was gold, her eyes wet violets; but Mills missed something. He had a feeling that he wanted to get home and talk things over with Mary.
At last he rose, and it was then that Dulcie laid her hand on his arm.
"Mills, I can't."
"Can't what?"
"Let you leave Mary."
"Why not?"
"It wouldn't be right."