“Nonsense, child. Is it for a mere tiff and a fit of hysterics a man is to lose his livelihood? Joseph Loyd, come into the next room for a moment.”
“I cannot leave this,” said he, in a low, faint voice: “say what you have to say to me here.”
“It is on the stroke of seven.”
He nodded.
“The train leaves a quarter before eight, and if you don’t start by this one you can’t reach Leghorn by Tuesday.”
“I know it; I’m not going.”
“Do you mean to give up your appointment?” asked she, in a voice of almost scornful reproach.
“I mean, that I’ll not go.”
“What will your friends say to this?” said she, angrily.
“I have not thought, nor can I think, of that now: my place is here.”