She was dressed in a dark close-fitting travelling costume, but she wore no hat.  Her face was quite colourless and looked if possible even more unnaturally pale by contrast with her bright auburn hair.  She shut the door behind her and stood still, facing Orsino in the glare of the electric lights.

“I did not mean to see you again,” she said, slowly.  “You have forced me to it.”

Orsino made a step forward and tried to take her hand, but she drew back.  The slight uncertainty often visible in the direction of her glance had altogether disappeared and her eyes met Orsino’s directly and fearlessly.

“Yes,” he answered.  “I have forced you to it.  I know it, and you cannot reproach me if I have.  I will not leave you.  I am going with you wherever you go.”

He spoke calmly, considering the great emotion he felt, and there was a quiet determination in his words and tone which told how much he was in earnest.  Maria Consuelo half believed that she could dominate him by sheer force of will, and she would not give up the idea, even now.

“You will not go with me, you will not even attempt it,” she said.

It would have been difficult to guess from her face at that moment that she loved him.  Her face was pale and the expression was almost hard.  She held her head high as though she were looking down at him, though he towered above her from his shoulders.

“You do not understand me,” he answered, quietly.  “When I say that I will go with you, I mean that I will go.”

“Is this a trial of strength?” she asked after a moment’s pause.

“If it is, I am not conscious of it.  It costs me no effort to go—­it would cost me much to stay behind—­too much.”

He stood quite still before her, looking steadily into her eyes.  There was a short silence, and then she suddenly looked down, moved and turned away, beginning to walk slowly about.  The room was large, and he paced the floor beside her, looking down at her bent head.

“Will you stay if I ask you to?”

The question came in a lower and softer tone than she had used before.

“I will go with you,” answered Orsino as firmly as ever.

“Will you do nothing for my asking?”

“I will do anything but that.”

“But that is all I ask.”

“You are asking the impossible.”

“There are many reasons why you should not come with me.  Have you thought of them all?”

“No.”

“You should.  You ought to know, without being told by me, that you would be doing me a great injustice and a great injury in following me.  You ought to know what the world will say of it.  Remember that I am alone.”

“I will marry you.”

“I have told you that it is impossible—­no, do not answer me!  I will not go over all that again.  I am going away to-night.  That is the principal thing—­the only thing that concerns you.  Of course, if you choose, you can get into the same train and pursue me to the end of the world.  I cannot prevent you.  I thought I could, but I was mistaken.  I am alone.  Remember that, Orsino.  You know as well as I what will be said—­and the fact is sure to be known.”