They looked at each other in silence. The sleeper on the couch seemed to be holding his breath. “I don’t know,” said the woman at last. “Maybe I would be glad. Yes, maybe I would be glad. But I don’t know--I just don’t know how I could make myself do it.” “How about me?” said the tall man in a voice that had changed since last he spoke. “Why do you always leave me out of it? Maybe if you let yourself think about me once in a while....” He had turned pale and his lips were trembling. He stopped speaking, but not because he was ashamed of his emotion. He stopped speaking because he was ashamed of what his emotion had impelled him to say. She was looking at him in surprise and wonder. She put out one hand and touched his coat with her finger-tips, unconsciously, lightly. Her chin quivered. “Allen,” she said softly, “Allen, I didn’t mean--please--” “Never mind,” he said slowly, in a constrained voice. “You know I didn’t mean to talk to you that way. I don’t want to appeal to your sympathy. And I don’t want to make you do anything. You know that. I meant all along to appeal to your understanding. You know that. I still mean to. And as far as understanding goes, you understand everything as well as I do. It’s all a matter of making up your mind. I don’t want to force you to do anything. I know how hard it is for you. You take your time about it. Don’t think about me. Try to think about what is the best thing to do. And just take your time about it.” She still kept her head lowered and still her fingers touched his coat. He knew that if he had taken her in his arms then and there the decision would have been entirely of his own making, and to his own liking. But his pride rebelled at the thought of reaching a decision, above all a decision in his own favor, by such a primitive method, by a method so contrary to his idea of how an issue between a man and a woman should be met. He would have her make her decision through her own understanding and by her own will! His hands left her shoulders and he stepped a little away from her. They no longer touched each other. She nodded her head a little, looking at the floor. He studied her, a little puzzled. “Then, may I come back next week, say, next Monday evening?” Again she nodded her head, without looking up. “Will you try to make up your mind between now and then? Will you be ready to tell me what you have decided to do?” He spoke almost as he would have spoken to a child. For a moment she still looked at the floor. Then she lifted her head. She met his kind gaze timidly. “Yes, Allen, I will,” she replied in a low voice. He drew a deep breath. “Good night,” he said, awkwardly holding out his hand. “Good night, Allen.” He was gone and she closed the door quickly behind him. She stood by the door while the sound of his footsteps rang in the hall. She looked wistfully about the room, sunk again in silence. She puckered her brows, thinking.