The time is ill-chosen.

Tell me bluntly what is in your mind, if, indeed, anything." He turned from her peevishly, and crossed to the window.

The twilight was descending, and the little garden was looking grey in the now pallid light.

Her seeming obtuseness was irritating him.
"Surely, Mademoiselle," he exclaimed at last, "it is not necessary that I should tell you what other course is open to us?
It is a matter for our choice whether we depart at once.

We have a passport, and--and, enfin, every hour that we remain here our danger is increased, and our chances of escape are lessened." "Ah!" She breathed the syllable contemptuously.