"Why did you come?" she repeated maliciously, and, half-laughing, half-determined, she took the lapel of his coat in a gesture which, in her fingers, was almost a caress. She stood looking up at him, so happy, so brimming with the satisfaction of having him back, of regaining what she had feared to lose, that he could not resist the desire in her eyes. "Because I like you," he said. "Despite my tantrums and my moods?" "On account of them." "And would you have done what you did—for any one?" "Come to think of it—no." She was not content. She would rather that he had answered more sentimentally. She felt that he was stronger than she was, more controlled. "Are you interested in Emma Fornez?" she said, looking away from him. "Oh,—interested." "You like her?" "Yes, very much." "I shouldn’t like to have you talked about." He did not answer. "What have I done that displeases you, Teddy?" she said all at once. But before he could answer, the room behind them dropped suddenly back into darkness. "The light’s gone out," she said, startled, her hand on his arm. "The current’s cut—that’s all," he answered. "I’ll light a lamp." "No. It’s good here. Wait. It’ll only be a moment." They remained in the dark, turning their glances out of the window, suddenly conscious of the panorama of the evening, the stir of departing multitudes, the end of labor and the evening of rest. "How plainly you can see," he said. "That’s Brooklyn Bridge, isn’t it?" "Yes." At the east three giant spans stood out across the unreal gray view that had neither banks nor green approaches, that cut its way like an invading flood through the cities. Innumerable, cottony puffs of steam, busy, hurrying, restless, rose from unseen hulls across the fading silhouettes of tangled spans. High to the south from a cyclopean tower a single ball of fire was shining. Below, in the long, straight avenues, the city was putting on its necklaces of brilliants; and from the black dotted masses that must be there somewhere in the growing obscurity, rushing home over the backs of the waters, high above housetops or deep through the bowels of the city, a great sigh seemed to rise with the sudden freshening of the twilight breeze, and the two human beings who looked down, as God looks down on this spectacle of a moving world, found nothing to express the sudden melancholy that troubled them, awakening vague desires, stirring them with the feeling of their own littleness. "Come," she said, turning away the first, and, lingering, looking back, placed a hand on his arm, repeating, "Come."