“Mr. Archibald!” she exclaimed. “I did not know you were in the city!”
“I have been here only an hour,” he said, stiffly.
“It is time for us to go;” and she turned to the door.
“Elvira!” His face looked sick and ghastly.
“Well?” She drew herself up very coldly.
“Are you made of stone?”
“Mr. Archibald, what can you mean?”
“My child, you are capable of grinding one who loves you into powder—like—er—a millstone!”
“Aunt Perkins!” she called out, “let us go!”
“No,” he cried, “I will not let you go. You shall hear me! I love you! Do you hear? And you shall not leave this house until you say you will be my wife! I know you care for me—everything tells me so—but you will wear your own and my heart out with your hard, cruel conscience! What brought you here? You loved me! Why have you been sitting in this room? You love me, Elvira—I know it—I feel it!”