"You looked at me, because I don't want you to let them send Mr. Graham away. If it was old Mr. Furnival I shouldn't like them to turn him out of this house when he was in such a state as that."
"Poor Mr. Furnival; no; I think he would bear it worse than Felix."
"Then why should he go? And why—should you look at me in that way?"
"Did I look at you, Mad? Well, I believe I did. We are to have no secrets; are we?"
"No," said she. But she did not say it in the same eager voice with which hitherto she had declared that they would always tell each other everything.
"Felix Graham is my friend," said he, "my special friend; and I hope you will always like my friends. But—"
"Well?" she said.
"You know what I mean, Mad"
"Yes," she said.
"That is all, dearest." And then she knew that he also had cautioned her not to fall in love with Felix Graham, and she felt angry with him for the caution. "Why—why—why—?" But she hardly knew as yet how to frame the question which she desired to ask herself.