Her face, which had assumed a mask of cold impassiveness, confronted him like that of a statue, but her voice, when she spoke, was sufficiently gentle.
"Mr. Orcutt," was her answer, "I have told you. I have a call elsewhere which must be attended to. I do not leave your house; I merely go to Buffalo for a few days."
But he could not believe this short statement of her intentions. In the light of these new fears of his, this talk of Buffalo, and a call there, looked to him like the merest subterfuge. Yet her gentle tone was not without its effect, and his voice visibly softened as he said:
"You are intending, then, to return?"
Her reply was prefaced by a glance of amazement.
"Of course," she responded at last. "Is not this my home?"
Something in the way she said this carried a ray of hope to his heart. Taking her hand in his, he looked at her long and searchingly.
"Imogene!" he exclaimed, "there is something serious weighing upon your heart. What is it? Will you not make me the confidant of your troubles? Tell me what has made such a change in you since—since noon, and its dreadful event."
But her expression did not soften, and her manner became even more reserved than before.