"Pardon me," said he, "but I cannot let you go till I have had some conversation with you. Come with me to the house, Imogene. I will not detain you long."
But with a sad and abstracted gesture she slowly shook her head.
"It is too late," she murmured. "I shall miss the train if I stop now."
"Then you must miss it," he cried, bitterly, forgetting every thing else in the torture of his uncertainty. "What I have to say cannot wait. Come!"
This tone of command from one who had hitherto adapted himself to her every whim, seemed to strike her. Paling quickly, she for the first time looked at him with something like a comprehension of his feelings, and quietly replied:
"Forgive me. I had forgotten for the moment the extent of your claims upon me. I will wait till to-morrow before going." And she led the way back to the house.
When they were alone together in the library, he turned toward her with a look whose severity was the fruit of his condition of mind rather than of any natural harshness or imperiousness.
"Taking her hand in his, he looked at her long and searchingly. 'Imogene,' he exclaimed, 'there is something weighing on your heart.'"—(Page 58.)
"Now, Imogene," said he, "tell me why you desire to leave my house."