He moved aside, to give her way through the gate. But she hung back,
with a glance for P. Sybarite.

"One moment, please," she said: "I must leave a message."

"Nonsense--!"

She showed displeasure in the lift of her chin. "I think I'm my own
mistress--as yet."

He growled indistinguishably.

"You have my promise," she cut him short coldly. "Wait for me." And
she turned back to the house.

Wondering, P. Sybarite went to meet her. Impulsively she gave him her
hand a second time; with as little reflection, he took it in both his
own.

"Is there nothing I can do?"

Her voice was broken: "I don't know. I must go--it's imperative....
Could you--?... I wonder!"

"Anything you ask," he asserted confidently.

Hesitating briefly, in a tone little above a whisper: "I must go," she
repeated. "I can't refuse. But--alone. Do you understand--?"