“I cannot tell. I only know that Mrs. Maxwell wrote to put him off.”
“Yes, that she did a couple of days ago; but now that Bella is so much better,—so nearly well, I may say,—I think she means to keep him, and you too, Tony, if you will so far favor us.”
“I cannot,—it is impossible.”
“I had hoped, Tony,” said she, with a malicious sparkle in her eyes, “that it was only against Lyle Abbey you bore a grudge, and not against every house where I should happen to be a visitor.”
“Alice, Alice!” said he, with trembling lips, “surely this is not fair.”
“If it be true, is the question; and until you have told me why you ceased to come to us,—why you gave up those who always liked you,—I must, I cannot help believing it to be true.”
Tony was silent: his heart swelled up as if it would burst his chest; but he struggled manfully, and hid his emotion.
“I conclude,” said she, sharply, “it was not a mere caprice which made you throw us off. You had a reason, or something that you fancied was a reason.”
“It is only fair to suppose so,” said he, gravely.
“Well, I 'll give you the benefit of that supposition; and I ask you, as a matter of right, to give me your reason.”