"Brigit—is it so—horrible to you?"
There was in his voice something like a repressed sob, and she had an extravagant horror of melodrama. If he wept she would, she knew, lose her temper.
"Listen, Théo. I—I will tell you to-night. I mean, I'll set a date. Only you must go now. I—I have an engagement."
"Then——"
"Then you are a goose to be so upset! I must think it over. I know I'm queer and—rather horrid, but—I have not changed. You knew what I was when you asked me to marry you. And—I never pretended to be—romantic, did I?"
He watched her dumbly. She had never looked to him more beautiful than at that moment in her simple blue frock, her hands behind her, her eyes almost deprecating. He rose with an effort. "All right, then. To-night. Thank you, Brigit."
As full of humble doubts as he had been the night he asked her to marry him, his honest eyes shining with the tears she had arrested in their course, he kissed her hand and withdrew.
When she had heard the front door close she went to a mirror on the wall and looked at herself.
"And now, you loathsome creature," she said aloud, fiercely, "you must make up your mind what you are going to do."
Like many nervous people, she had a habit of walking while she thought hard, and now after a few turns up and down the overcrowded room she went upstairs, put on a hat, and, leaving the excited Tommy a prey to a most maddening attack of thwarted curiosity, left the house.