"I obey you," he said, "in this as in everything else. You are suffering, and I pity you from my heart of hearts. I am also suffering. Will you not give me a little pity?"
"I am very sorry for you, Mr. Paget; indeed, indeed I am. It would have been better for you had we never met."
"Can you utter such a heresy--you, the soul of truth and honesty? I bless the day on which I met you; it will live forever in my memory as the happiest in my life. Give me your hand. Why do you shrink? You would give it to the commonest friend, and I am at least that. Thank you. There! I merely press it, as an ordinary friend would do--only you must feel the pulses of my heart in my fingers. That is not my fault. I cannot help it beating, and beating for you, Emilia. May I walk with you a little way?"
"Not far. You will not come with me to the door?"
"No, if you insist. I will leave you before we reach it."
"Before we are in the street, Mr. Paget."
"Yes, before we are in the street. But I give you fair warning, Emilia. I must have an answer to my letter, and I must find out what has become of it. Is not that right?"
"I suppose it is."
"It is not a matter of supposing. It is or it is not. Be as frank with me as I am with you, Emilia."
"It is right that you should ascertain what has become of it."