His eyes feel strained, hurt; they are staring--staring always towards the end of this path, where a seat is, so hedged round with creepers that one can scarcely see it.

Will she be there?
He turns abruptly to his companion.
"I am sick of this," says he; "I shall go no farther." "But your bet ?" "It is a damnable bet!" exclaims he fiercely.

"I ought to be ashamed of myself for having made it.

You win it, of course, in a sense, as I decline to go on with it; but, still, I believe that _I_ win it in fact." "You are afraid," says she, with a daring that astonishes even herself.
"I am afraid of forgetting that once I was a gentleman," says he curtly.
"You are afraid of what is in that arbour," returns she mercilessly.
Rylton hesitates.

To draw back is to betray disbelief in his wife; to go on is to join in a conspiracy against her.