That evening Pamela went downstairs. She dined with Herbert, or rather sat through the meal; she could not eat. Neither of them spoke much. Once Arnott insisted on her drinking a glass of wine. He had noticed her lack of appetite; and he poured the wine into her glass, and stood by her while she drank it. He was keenly observant of her, and careful not to let her see his attentive regard. He wondered whether she had arrived at any decision, whether she would speak about the matter later. He was feverishly anxious to know what was in her mind. If she was bent on leaving him, he was determined to oppose her to the utmost, to exert every art, every argument he could devise to induce her to alter her decision,--to see the thing from his point of view,--to be reasonable. When she left the table, he rose also and followed her from the room. In the hall, at the foot of the stairs, she paused, glanced at him uncertainly, and changing her mind about going upstairs, entered the drawing-room. He followed her and shut the door. "Tell me," he said, and stood facing her in the dull glow of the shaded lights, his voice trembling with emotion, body and features tense with the restraint he was bringing to bear on himself, to subdue the anxious desire to hear her speak, to hear her pronounce her verdict, to know the result of that long, miserable, mental struggle which he knew had been taking place in the bedroom from which she had shut him out,--"tell me what you have decided... I can't bear this racking uncertainty any longer, Pamela... I can't bear it." Pamela looked at him with perplexed, miserable eyes. "I haven't decided," she said, "anything." Suddenly her eyes filled with tears, there was a sound of tears in her voice. "I don't know what to do," she moaned. "I've thought, and thought... I can't see a way out." A momentary gleam of triumph leaped into his eyes. He held out his arms. "My dear!" he said. She made no move towards him. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the back of a chair, her gaze fixed on the carpet. "There seems only one thing to do," she resumed in an expressionless voice... "There _is_ only one thing,--no decent minded woman would consider any other course." "You mean parting?" he said, and his face hardened. "Yes,--parting," she echoed, and lifted her gaze and scrutinised him intently. "It won't undo the evil; but it sets things right, as far as it is possible to right them now." "Look here!" he cried. He went to her and knelt on the chair upon which she leaned and looked up into her face... "Could you part from me? ... Could you? Think what we have been to one another,--all that our love has meant, and then think of being apart,--always,--never seeing one another even... _Could_ you do it, Pam?" Her troubled eyes met his, clouded with a mist of tears. "Don't!" she muttered, and put a hand quickly to her throat. "I've been thinking about it--like that all day."