She saw that he meant to turn the subject away from her husband's death,
and a little thrill of gratitude went through her. He had seen how
reluctant she was to speak of it. She followed his lead with relief.

"Perhaps--perhaps," she said. "We will say so anyhow. And now, do you
know, I think you had better have your tea and rest. You have done a lot
of talking, and you will be getting feverish again if I let you go on. I
will send Peter in with it."

He raised one eyebrow with a wry expression. "Must it be Peter?" he
said.

She relented. "I will bring it myself if you will promise not to talk."

"Ah!" he said. "And if I promise that--will you promise me one thing
too?"

She paused. "What is that?"

His eyes met hers, direct but baffling. "Not. to run away from me," he
said.

The quick blood mounted again in her face. She stood silent.

He lifted an urgent hand. "Stella, in heaven's name, don't be afraid of
me!"

She laid her hand again in his. She could not do otherwise. She wanted
to beg him to say nothing further, to let her go in peace. But no words
would come. She stood before him mute.