A curious tranquillity quieted her at moments--intervals in which she seemed to sit apart watching the development of another woman, listening to her own speech, patient with her own silences.

There was a droop to her shoulders now; his own were sagging as he leaned slightly forward in his chair, arms resting on his knees, while around them the magic ebbed, eddied, ebbed; and lassitude succeeded tension; and she stirred, looked up at him with eyes that seemed dazed at first, then widened slowly into waking; and he saw in them the first clear dawn of alarm.

Suddenly she flushed and sprang to her feet, the bright colour surging to her hair.
"Don't!" he said.

"Don't reason! There will be nothing left of me if you do--or of, these moments.

You will hate them--and me, if you reason.