The young girl by his side smiled wanly, but her heart was too full to make any reply.
“We shall have to discourse on this subject on some future day,” said he, still in the same measured and melancholy tone and manner he was wont to assume when referring to family matters. “Yes, some other day,” he repeated.
She bowed her head, and clung closer to him.
Something struck her just then that he was a strange weird kind of man, who seemed to have the power of drawing her closer and closer towards him, until he held her in perfect subjection.
This was but a fugitive thought, but as it passed through her brain she became more reserved in her manner.
“I doubt not but we shall understand each other pretty well,” said he; “and I am sure you will do your best to meet my views. I am old, and old age is exacting.”
“I will not hear you say so,” cried Aveline.
He stooped down, drew her towards him, and kissed her on the cheek.
She passed upstairs to her own suite of rooms, and he returned to the banqueting hall.
Aveline, upon reaching her own rooms, sat down and wrote a long letter to her husband.