He gave his consent, but evinced no intention of accompanying her. To see her like this, in his own home, where he had so often imagined her being and where she would never be again, was torture to him. After an interval that seemed to him an eternity, she came back flushed and triumphant, carrying a tray on which were tea, toast and scrambled eggs. “There,” she said, “don’t you think I’ve improved? Don’t you think I’m rather a good housewife?” The element of pathos in her self-satisfaction was too much for him. “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood either for comedy or for supper,” he said. Her face fell. “I thought you’d be so hungry,” she observed gently. “But no matter. Sit down and we’ll talk.” “I know of nothing to talk about,” he returned, but he dropped reluctantly into a hard, stiff chair opposite her. “I’ll tell you what there is to talk about,” said Christine. “Something that has never been mentioned in all the discussions that have been taking place. And that is my feelings.” “Your feelings,” Riatt began, rather contemptuously, but she stopped him. “No,” she said, “you shan’t say what you were going to. My feelings, my feelings for you. You’ve told me that you did _not_ love me, that you despised me, that you _did_ love me, but you’ve never asked how I felt to you.” “But you’ve made it so clear. You felt that, in default of anything else, I would do.” She leaned across the table and looked at him gravely. “Max,” she said, “I love you.” He made no motion, not even one of contempt, and so she got up, and coming round the table, she knelt down beside him and put her arms tightly about him. Still he did not move, except that his hands, which had been hanging at his sides, now gripped the edges of the chair with the rigidity of iron, and he said in a voice which sounded even in his own ears like that of a total stranger: “What folly this is, Christine!” “Why is it folly?” “If you had said this six weeks ago, while I still had enough money to--” [Illustration: “Max,” she said, “I love you”] “If I had said it then you wouldn’t have believed me.” He looked at her; it was true. “But now,” she went on rapidly, “you must believe me. If I come now to live with you and work for you, no one can accuse me of mercenary motives--not even you, Max. I shan’t get anything from the bargain but you, and that is all I want.” “This is madness,” said Riatt, trying not very sincerely to free himself. “Yes, of course it’s mad, like all really logical things,” she answered. “But that’s the way it’s going to be. I love you, and I am going to stay with you.” “I couldn’t let you,” he said. “I couldn’t accept such a sacrifice.”