I want you to leave this place this morning, go away, anywhere! You can go back to London, or you can travel. Only start this morning."
"Willingly," he answered, "on one condition."
"What is it?" she asked quickly.
"That you go with me," he declared.
She shook her head impatiently.
"You know that is not what I mean," she said reproachfully. "I was mad last night. You took me by surprise and I forgot everything. I was awake all night. This morning I can see things clearly. Nothing—of that sort—is possible between you and me. So I want you to go away!"
He shook his head, gently but firmly.
"It isn't possible, Louise," he said. "You mustn't ask me to do anything of that sort after last night. It's too late you see, dear. You belong to me now. Nothing can alter that."
"It is not too late," she answered passionately. "Last night was just an hour of madness. I shall cut it out of my life. You must cut it out of yours."
He leaned over till his head nearly touched hers, and under the holland dust-sheet which covered her knees he gripped her hand.
"I will not," he answered. "I will not go away. You belong to me, and I will have you!"
She looked at him for a moment without speech. Wrayson's features, more distinguished in a general way by delicacy than strength, had assumed a curiously set and dogged appearance. His eyes met hers kindly but mercilessly. He looked like a man who has spoken his last word.
"Herbert," she murmured, "there are things which
