"No." "I say yes." "No." And she sprang to her feet and walked to the door. There she turned. He had picked up her gloves. "Will you give me my gloves, please?" "No." "Will you give me my gloves?" "No." "Then I shall go without them." "Very well. Good-bye." "If I stay, will you promise not to talk like that?" "I don't want you to stay under those circumstances." "You're an insulting beast." "Not at all. I honour your womanhood by not pretending that it isn't there." "Will you give me my gloves?" She ran across and tried to snatch them out of his hand. He gripped and held her, and she gave a wild laugh as he kissed her. She clung to him as he let her sink back into the great chair. She lay with her eyes closed and her lips parted while he sat and poured himself out another cup of tea. His hand was shaking so that he spilled some tea on his new rug. "That's all right," he said. "I'll give you a week to get used to me, and if at the end of that time you don't like me, you can go." "I haven't any friends," she said in a low voice, "and you get sick of girls and the shop. You get sick of going out in the evening up and down the streets and into the cinemas, and finding some damn fool to take you to a music-hall. Such a lot of people and nobody to know." "There's a lot of fun in living with an artist," he said. "You meet queer people and amusing women, and you wouldn't find me dull to live with." "I felt queer as I came near the house," she said, "as though I knew something was going to happen. I feel very queer now." "That's love," said Logan grimly. "Love isn't what you thought it was." "You must let me go now." "When will you come again?" "Never." "Oh yes, you will." "Stop it!" she cried. "Stop it! I'm not going to be flummoxed by the like of you." "But you are," he said. "You poor darling!" He took her hand and stroked it tenderly. "Don't you see that you are flummoxed by something that is stronger than both of us? I'm shaken by it, and I'm whipcord. We're poor starving people, God help us! and we can save each other. We knew we could do it at once, when we met. . . . If I said all the pretty things in the world it wouldn't help. We're too far gone for that. When you're starving you don't want chocolates. . . . I'm only saying what I know. It is true of myself. If I have made a mistake about you, I am sorry. You can go. . . . Have I made a mistake?" For answer she turned towards him, gazed at him with glazing eyes, raised her arms, and drew him into them. * * * * * A week later Nelly Oliver dined with Logan and Mendel at the Pot-au-Feu. They had a special dinner and drank champagne, for it was what Logan called the "nuptial feast."