“Yes, please.”
He pushed in the button and walked on, guided through the obscurity by the line of light under his door. As he reached the threshold he heard a little choking cry.
“John—oh, John!”
He paused.
“I can’t bear it!” The sobs increased.
“Bear what?”
“That you should hate me”
“Don’t be foolish,” he said, groping for his door-handle.
“But you do hate me—and I deserve it!"
“Nonsense, dear. Try to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep till you’ve forgiven me. Say you don’t hate me! I’ll do anything … only say you don’t hate me!”
He stood still a moment, thinking; then he turned back, and made his way across the room to her side. As he sat down beside her, he felt her arms reach for his neck and her wet face press itself against his cheek.
“I’ll do anything …” she sobbed; and in the darkness he held her to him and hated his victory.
[ 206 ]
