He seemed to be coming towards her.
Only by keeping her eyes fixed on his moveless hands, still resting on
the table, could she convince herself that his arms were not closing
about her, that she was not being drawn nearer and nearer to him,
powerless to resist.
Suddenly, out of the mist, she heard voices. The waiter was standing
beside him with the bill. She reached out her hand and took it. The
usual few mistakes had occurred. She explained them, good temperedly,
and the waiter, with profuse apologies, went back to have it corrected.
He turned to her as the man went. "Try and forgive me," he said in a low
voice. "It all came tumbling out before I thought what I was saying."
The blood was flowing back into her veins. "Oh, it wasn't your fault,"
she answered. "We must make the best we can of it."
He bent forward so that he could see into her eyes.
"Tell me," he said. There was a note of fierce exultation in his voice.
"I'll promise never to speak of it again. If I had been a free man,
could I have won you?"
She had risen while he was speaking.
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