They spoke in low tones, fearful lest their voices should travel beyond the room.
"Yes, compelled. I was urged by a spirit."
His face grew white. "A spirit!"
"How you echo me, Christian. Yes, by a spirit, to which you yourself shall give a name. Shall we call it a spirit of restlessness, or jealousy, or love?" She gazed at him with an arch smile.
"Adelaide," he said, "your imprudence will ruin us."
"Nonsense, Christian, nonsense," she said lightly; "ruined because I happened to utter one little word! To be sure I ought, so as to prove myself an apt pupil, to put a longer word before it, and call it platonic love. How unreasonable you are! What harm is there in our having a moment's chat? We are old friends, are we not? No, I will not let you interrupt me; I know what you are going to say. You are going to say, Think of the hour! I decline to think of the hour. I think of nothing but you. And instead of looking delighted, as you should do, as any other man would do, there you stand as serious as an owl. Now, answer me, sir. Why did you not come to me the moment you received my note?"
"I had but just read it when you tapped at my door."
"I forgive you. Where have you been? With the Advocate?"
"No; I have been walking in the grounds."
"You saw nothing, Christian?" she asked with a little shiver.