She dried her eyes mechanically:  “Come here,” she said.  “I don’t believe I did explain it clearly.”

And, very carefully, very minutely, she began to tell him about the psychic waves, and the instrument, and the new company formed to exploit it on a commercial basis.

She told him what had happened that morning to her; how her disobedience had cost her so much misery.  She informed him about her father, and that florid and rotund gentleman’s choleric character.

“If you are here when I tell him I’m married,” she said, “he will probably frighten you to death; and that’s one of the reasons why I wish to get it over and get you safely away before he returns.  As for me, now that I know the worst, I want to get the worst over and—­and live out my life quietly somewhere....  So now you see why I am in such a hurry, don’t you?”

He nodded as though stunned, leaning there on the table, hands folded, head bent.

“I am so very sorry—­for you,” she said.  “I know how you must feel about it.  But if we are obliged to marry some time had we not better get it over and then—­never—­see—­one another——­”

He lifted his head, then stood upright.

Her soft lips were mute, but the question still remained in her eyes.

So, for a long while, they looked at each other; and the color under his cheekbones deepened, and the pink in her cheeks slowly became pinker.

“Suppose,” he said, under his breath, “that I—­wish—­to return—­to you?”

“I do not wish it——­”

“Try.”

“Try to—­to wish for——­”

“For my return.  Try to wish that you also desire it.  Will you?”

“If you are going to—­to talk that way—­” she stammered.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then—­then——­”

“Is there any reason why I should not, if we are engaged?” he asked.  “We are—­engaged, are we not?”

“Engaged?”

“Yes.  Are we?”

“I—­yes—­if you call it——­”

“I do....  And we are to be—­married?” He could scarcely now speak the word which but a few moments since he pronounced so easily; for a totally new significance attached itself to every word he uttered.

“Are we?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then—­if I—­if I find that I——­”

“Don’t say it,” she whispered.  She had turned quite white.

“Will you listen——­”

“No.  It—­it isn’t true—­it cannot be.”

“It is coming truer every moment....  It is very, very true—­even now....  It is almost true....  And now it has come true.  Sybilla!”

White, dismayed, she gazed at him, her hands instinctively closing her ears.  But she dropped them as he stepped forward.

“I love you, Sybilla.  I wish to marry you....  Will you try to care for me—­a little——­”

“I couldn’t—­I can’t even try——­”

“Dear——­”

He had her hands now; she twisted them free; he caught them again.  Over their interlocked hands she bowed her head, breathless, cheeks aflame, seeking to cover her eyes.