dressing-room that Graham had slept in during her illness.
'Yes. In here. So that you shan't disturb me.'
'You'll have some dinner first?'
'Yes. A little dinner, on a tray.—Amélie knows.'
'I see.—And then you'll sleep?'
'Yes. Don't come in to see. I'll be sound very soon.'
'And to-morrow?'
'To-morrow we can talk, Dick,' said Jill.
She smiled at him and she saw, as he stood in the door, gazing at her gravely, that he measured the immense distances that had come between them. They were near as never before in their lives; yet all life now divided them. He would not kiss her good-night. No. She saw that he would not. The radiance was there, about them both, and it still sustained her; but when he had softly closed the door, Jill, for one black moment, gasped on a rising surge of tears; bit them down, fought and mastered them. No; no; no;—she would not think. The next thing to do was to sleep. And she undressed rapidly.
