Releasing her hands I dropped back into my own corner of the sofa, scanning the refined features more at my ease, for the reason that her face was slightly averted and her eyes turned to the floor. "I don’t want you to go on, Vio, if—" "I’ve thought everything over," she declared in her imperious way, "and made up my mind that it was the only thing for me to do." "Then you had thought that—that perhaps you—you couldn’t." She nodded slowly, without looking up. "You’d made other—plans." "It wasn’t that so much; it was—it was thinking of you." "Thinking of me—from what point of view?" "From the point of view of—of what you’ve done." She glanced at me now, quickly, furtively, as if trying to spare me the pain of scrutiny. "Oh, Billy, I’m so sorry for—for my share in it." "And what do you take your share to be?" "The share of responsibility. When I urged you to go—" "As it happened, I should have gone anyhow. When this country had entered the war I should have been under the same obligation as any other man." "That would have been different. When our men were taken there was discrimination. Each was selected for what he was best fitted to do. A great deal of pains was given to that, and I can’t tell you how I suffered when I saw that if I’d only left you alone you could have contributed the thing you knew most about. That’s why I feel so strongly that, now you’ve come back—even in this sort of disguise—" "I’m not in disguise, Vio. The way you see me—" The motion of her long, slender hand was partly of appeal and partly of dismissal. "I don’t want to hear about that, Billy. If we’re to begin again there are things we mustn’t talk about. Since you’ve done this extraordinary thing, and I may be said to have driven you into it, I want to stand by you. Isn’t that enough?" There was so much in this little speech that I couldn’t do it justice at once. All I found myself able to say was: "Tell me, Vio: Is the extraordinary thing my staying away—or my coming back?" Again there was that pleading, commanding gesture. "Oh, Billy, don’t. I’m willing to try to pick up the past; but it must be the past, not what’s happened in the mean time." She rose with that supple grace which suggested the Zuloaga pose. "Go back to the hotel and get your things. I—I can’t bear to see you looking as you are. When you’re more like yourself—" I tried to smile, but I know the effort was no more than a twisted quivering. "You’ll have to see me looking as I am for a few days yet, Vio. My kit doesn’t offer me much variety." "Oh, well—!" She accepted this as part of the inevitable strangeness in which she had become enveloped, making silent, desperate concessions. Because of this mood I was tempted to ask for five minutes’ grace in order to look over the old house.