She could only cling voicelessly to the support he
had not denied her.
He brought her to the settee and stood still. His face was strangely
grim.
"Well--Toby?" he said.
She twisted in his hold and faced him, but she kept his arm wound close
about her, her hand tight gripped on his. "Are you--angry with me for
coming?" she asked him quiveringly. "I--had to come."
He looked down into her eyes. "_Bien, petite!_ Then you need--a friend,"
he said.
Her answering look was piteous. "I need--you," she said.
One of the old gay smiles flashed across his face. He seemed to challenge
her to lightness. The grimness went out of his eyes like a shadow.
"And so you have come, _ma mignonette_, at the dead of night--at the risk
of your reputation--and mine--"
Toby made an excruciating grimace, and broke impulsively in upon him. "It
wasn't the dead of night when I started. I've been waiting hours--hours.
But it doesn't matter. I've found you--at last. And you can't send me
away now--like you did before--because--because--well, I've no one to go
to. You might have done it if you'd come down earlier. But you can't do
it--now." Her voice thrilled on a high note of triumph. "You've got to
keep me--now.
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