He had not expected this; he felt that no further progress was within the bounds of possibility.

For some half minute he stood, his back to the door, his face turned to the illimitable region of drifts and feathery air, unable to conceive how to go forward and without a thought of turning back.

When his pulses were surging and tingling with the discomfort of her gaze, he heard the door shut sharply.

Perhaps she thought that he was shamming and was determined not to yield again; perhaps--and this seemed even worse--she had been overcome in the midst of her stern responsibility by the powers of laughter; perhaps, horrid thought, she had gone for Morin to bid him again throw the noose over his treacherous shoulders.

The last thought pricked him into motion.