While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. ‘Oh, I don’t wish to marry you. But before the Grieg concerto was done, she knew that she was free. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea.
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