"When you first went away," Mrs. Bobby continued, as no answer came, "he was all for coming up here at once. He thought it a caprice, a morbid, unaccountable whim; he was sure that if he could see you, remonstrate with you—And then there was your letter, forbidding him to come. He was beside himself! It was all I could do to keep him from taking the first train up here. I said—Wait—it doesn't do, always, to force a woman's will; give her a little time. At least she has paid you the compliment, which she has paid to no one else of—running away from your attentions."
She paused, her eyes still eagerly fixed upon Elizabeth's face. The color in the girl's cheek was now brilliant, her lips were parted; but still she did not speak.
"Day after day," said Mrs. Bobby, "we have talked it over—he walking up and down, restless, wild; I trying to soothe him, urging him to be patient—Sometimes he thinks that you are revenging yourself in this way for his former neglect, that it is a little scheme to pay him back—the idea drives him frantic, makes him furious with himself, yet he is always encouraged when he thinks of it. And then again—he thinks that you don't care for him, that you never will, that there is some one else.... Ah, my dear, if you really do care, you are cruel, unpardonably cruel, to torment him like this."
Again she paused. Elizabeth, with a quick, impatient movement, dragged her hand away from her grasp, and began to pace up and down, gasping as if for breath. "Cruel," she cried out, "cruel! And you think it gives me pleasure—to torment him!"
"If it doesn't," said Mrs. Bobby, following her with her eyes and speaking with some coldness, "I confess I am at a loss to account for your behavior."
Elizabeth stopped suddenly and bending down, almost buried her face in the roses, whose fragrance she inhaled.
"There never was a man," said Mrs. Bobby, "who loved a woman more than he loves you, Elizabeth. And there isn't a man, who, I believe, deserves a woman better."
"Deserves her!" murmured Elizabeth, "deserves me! Oh, good Heavens!" The exclamation was barely audible, and apparently addressed only to the roses.
"I said to him yesterday," said Mrs. Bobby, "'You'll come up Saturday, of course?' But—he's proud now and hurt, Elizabeth—he said: 'I won't come, I won't force myself upon her without—her knowledge and consent. If she knows, if she's willing, why, then, I'll come—not otherwise.'"
There was a pause. Elizabeth turned presently a face which seemed to reflect the glowing color of the roses over which she had bent. "What do you—want me to do, Eleanor?" she asked, softly.