Something moved close to her, and she realized what had roused her.  Columbus was standing up by her side, his forepaws against her, his grizzled nose nudging her arm.  She stirred stiffly, and put the arm about him.

“Oh—­Christopher!” she said, and gasped as if she had not breathed for a long time.  “Oh—­Christopher!”

He leaned up against her, stretching his warm tongue to reach her cheek, his whole body wriggling with gushing solicitude under her hand.

She looked down at him with the dazed eyes of one who has received a stunning blow.  “I don’t know what we shall do, my doggie,” she said.

And then very suddenly she was on her feet, tense, palpitating, her head turned to listen.  The gate had clicked again, and someone was coming up the path.

It was Dick, and he moved with the step of an eager man, reached the door, opened it, and entered.  She heard him in the passage, heard his tread upon the threshold, heard his voice greeting her.

“Hullo, darling!  All alone in the dark?  I’ve had a beast of a day away from you.”

His hands reached out and clasped her.  She was actually in his arms before she found her voice.

“Dick!  Dick!  Please!  I want to speak to you,” she said.

He clasped her close.  His lips pressed hers, stopping all utterance for a while with a mastery that would not be held in check.  She could not resist him, but there was no rapture in her yielding.  His love was like a flame about her, but she was cold—­cold as ice.  Suddenly, with his face against her neck, he spoke:  “What’s the matter, Juliet?”

She quivered in response, made an attempt to release herself, felt his arms tighten, and was still.  “I have—­found out—­something,” she said, her voice very low.

“What is it?” he said.

She did not answer.  A great impulse arose in her to wrench herself from him, to thrust him back but she could not.  She stood—­a prisoner—­in his hold.

He waited a moment, still with his face bent over her, his lips close to her neck.  “Is it anything that—­matters?” he asked.

She felt his arms drawing her and quivered again like a trapped bird.  “Yes,” she whispered.

“Very much?”

“Yes,” she said again.

“Then you are angry with me,” he said.

She was silent.

He pressed her suddenly very close.  “Juliet, you don’t hate me, do you?”

She caught her breath with a sob that sounded painfully hard and dry. 
“I—­couldn’t have married you—­if I had known,” she said.

He started a little and lifted his head.  “As bad as that!” he said.

For a space there was silence between them while his eyes dwelt sombrely upon the litter of books upon the table, and still his arms enfolded her though he did not hold her close.  When at last she made as if she would release herself, he still would not let her go.