'Louis!' said an entreating voice above, and there stood Mary—'Pray say nothing, but call a cab for me, please. No, I am not ill—indeed, I am not—but I cannot stay!'
'You look ill! It has been too much for you! Clara, take her—let her lie down quietly,' cried Louis, springing to her side.
'Oh no, thank you-no,' said Mary, decidedly, though very low; 'I told Lady Conway that I could not stay. I settled it with Aunt Melicent.'
'That aunt of yours—'
'Hush! No, it is for my own sake—my own doing. I cannot bear it any longer! Please let me go!'
'Then I will take you. I saw the brougham waiting. We will go quietly together.'
'No, that must not be.'
'I was thoughtless in urging you to come. The turmoil has been too much. My poor Mary! That is what comes of doing what I like instead of what you like. Why don't you always have your own way? Let me come; nay, if you will not, at least let Clara go with you, and come back.'
Mary roused herself at last to speak, as she moved downstairs—'You need not think of me; there is nothing the matter with me. I promised Aunt Melicent to come home. She is very kind—it is not that.'
'You must not tell me not to think. I shall come to inquire. I shall be with you the first thing tomorrow.'