She drew away. It was good of him to take care of her, but she didn't
want his care. She didn't want that tone, that air of possession.
She was not Porter's. She belonged to herself. And to no one else.
She was free.
With the quick proud movement that was characteristic of her, she
lifted her head. Her eyes went beyond Porter, beyond the porch, to the
Tower Rooms where a light flared, suddenly. Roger Poole was not in the
garden; he had gone up without saying "Good-night."