“Then I might, perhaps, marry you; but you see, at present, it is out of the question.”
“That I deny. I see no just cause or impediment why we should not be married to-morrow, supposing both of us were willing.”
“But as we are not both of us willing, there is no use in discussing the question any longer. I am so tired. It seems to me I would give everything I am likely to possess in this world for a few hours of oblivion and rest.”
And her face looked strangely haggard and troubled in the strong, white light of the chandelier.
“Only that you are such a will-o’-the-wisp,” he said complainingly. “If I let you go now, I shall never see you again.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, with a faint smile. “I begin to have a feeling as if I could not escape you if I would.”
“Then why try?” he asked softly.
“Because I can’t help myself,” she answered, with a blush; and then she added desperately: “You must leave me now; I cannot stand any more—indeed I cannot.”
“Will you promise to see me to-morrow, Gwendolyn?”
“I cannot promise anything, for I am too broken down to realize the sense of what I am saying. I will see you if I can, although these interviews only harass us both, and do us no good. Still, since you wish it, I will try to satisfy you, although I feel to-night as if I must be going to have a serious illness.”