They spoke but little during the rest of the meal. There seemed to be nothing to say. In some curious fashion Sylvia felt paralyzed. She could not turn her thought in any but the one direction, and she knew subtly but quite unmistakably that in this they were not in sympathy. It was a relief to her when Burke rose from the table. She was longing to get back to Guy. She had an almost overwhelming desire to be alone with him, even though he lay unconscious of her. They had known each other so long ago, before she had come to this land of strangers. Was it altogether unnatural that meeting thus again the old link should have been forged anew? And his need of her was so great--infinitely greater now than it had ever been before. She lingered a few moments to set the table in order for Kieff; then turned to go to him, and was surprised to find Burke still standing by the door. She looked at him questioningly, and as if in answer he laid his hand upon her shoulder, detaining her. He did not speak immediately, and she had a curious idea that he was embarrassed. "What is it, partner?" she said, withdrawing her thoughts from Guy with a conscious effort. He bent slightly towards her. His hold upon her was not wholly steady. It was as if some hidden force vibrated strongly within him, making itself felt to his very finger-tips. Yet his face was perfectly composed, even grim, as he said, "There is one thing I want to say to you before you go. Sylvia, I haven't asserted any right over you so far. But don't forget--don't let anyone induce you to forget--that the right is mine! I may claim it--some day." That aroused her from preoccupation very effectually. The colour flamed in her face. "Burke! I don't understand you!" she said, speaking quickly and rather breathlessly, for her heart was beating fast and hard. "Have you gone mad?" "No, I am not mad," he said, and faintly smiled. "I am just looking after our joint interests, that's all." She opened her eyes wide. "Still I don't understand you," she said. "I thought you promised--I thought we agreed--that you were never to interfere with my liberty." "Unless you abused it," said Burke. She flinched a little in spite of herself, so uncompromising were both his tone and attitude. But in a moment she drew herself erect, facing him fearlessly. "I don't think you know--quite--what you are saying to me," she said. "You are tired, and you are looking at things--all crooked. Will you please take a rest this afternoon? I am sure you need it. And to-night--" She paused a moment, for, her courage notwithstanding, she had begun to tremble--"to-night,"--she said again, and still paused, feeling his hand tighten upon her, feeling her heart quicken almost intolerably under its weight. "Yes?" he said, his voice low, intensely quiet, "Please finish! What am I to do to-night?" She faced him bravely, with all her strength. "I hope," she said, "you will come and tell me you are sorry."