“You shouldn’t walk out in the night air with bare arms and shoulders,” he said, holding the cloak so that she could easily put it on.

She turned her back on him, put up her hands and so took it.

“It’s very warm to-night.”

“Still, it’s imprudent.”

“You playing sick nurse!”

But all the gaiety had gone out of her voice, all the liveliness had vanished from her manner.

“Shall we walk a little?” he said.  “Shall we go to the bank of the river?”

“No, no.  You mustn’t tire yourself.  Let us sit down, and very soon I shall send you to bed.”

“Not just yet.”

“I’m—­”

“It isn’t that I want you to play.  Besides, that noise over there would disturb us.  No, but I want to talk to you.  I must talk to you to-night.”

One side of her mouth went down.  But she turned her face quickly, and he did not see it.  They came on to the terrace before the lighted windows.

“Sit down here, Ruby—­near to me.”

She sat down.  With the very madness for movement thrilling, tingling, through all her weary and feverish body she was obliged to sit down quietly.

Nigel sat down close to her.  There was a silence.

“Oh,” she said, almost desperately to break it, “we haven’t had coffee to-night.  Shall I—­would you like me to make it once more for you?”

She spoke at random.  She wanted to move, to do something, anything.  She felt as if she must occupy herself in some way, or begin to cry out, to scream.

“Shall I?  Shall I?” she repeated, half getting up.

Nigel looked at her fixedly.

“No, Ruby, not to-night.”

She sank back.

“Very well.  But I thought you liked my coffee.”

“So I did.  So I shall again.”

He put out his hand to touch hers.

“Only not to-night.”

“Just as you like.”

“We’ve—­there are other things to-night.”

He kept his eyes always fixed upon hers.

“Other things!” she said.  “Yes—­sleep.  You must rest well to-night, and so must I.”

A fierce irony, in despite of herself, broke out in her voice as she said the last three words.  It frightened her, and she burst into a fit of coughing, and pulled up her cloak about her bare neck.  To do this she had to draw away her hand from Nigel’s.  She was thankful for that.

“I swallowed quantities of dust and sand in the train,” she said.

He held out his hand to take hers again, and she was forced to give it.

“I shall rest to-night,” he said.  “Because I’ve come to a resolution.  If
I hadn’t, if—­if I followed my first thought, my first decision, I know
I should not be able to rest.  I know I shouldn’t.”

She stared at him in silence.

“Ruby,” he said, “you remember our first evening here?”

“Yes,” she forced herself to say.