“Good-bye!” Tony repeated scoffingly. “Nonsense, dear! You say that this mysterious something has nothing to do with you or with me personally. And for the rest of the world what does it matter? Nothing counts but just you and me, sweetheart.”
“Oh, but it does!” Cecily contradicted firmly. “We—we can't think only of ourselves. It—it is no use, Tony. My mind is made up.”
“Then I am going to unmake it,” Tony said with equal decision. “And, if you won't tell me what you fancy is going to separate us, I am going to find out for myself.”
Then for the first time Cecily's self-possession really deserted her.
“No, no! You must not!” she cried feverishly. “Tony, you must not—you do not know what harm—what terrible harm you might do if you did. Promise me—promise me you will not!” She caught at his arm with trembling hands, as though to stop his threatened action by actual physical force. If ever fear had looked out of human eyes, stark, tragic fear, Anthony saw it then as he met her terrified gaze.
Some shadow of it communicated itself to him. He felt suddenly cold, his face turned a sickly grey beneath its tan. In that moment he realized fully that he was up against some very real and tangible obstacle that stood definitely between Cecily and himself.
“Cecily!” he said hoarsely. “Cecily!”
The girl looked at him a moment, her lips twitching; then, as if coming to some sudden resolution, she bent forward and whispered a few words in his ear.
As he heard them he started back.
“What do you say, Cecily? That you—that you know—— But you are mad—mad!”