"What is the matter, Vivian—are you ill?"
"No—" She could say nothing further, but tried to pass him.
"Look here—there is something. You've been—different—for several days. Have I done anything you don't like?"
"Oh, Morton!" His question was so exactly to the point; and so exquisitely inadequate! He had indeed.
"I care too much for you to let anything stand between us now," he went on.
"Come, there's no one in the upper hall—come and 'tell me the worst.'"
"As well now as ever." thought the girl. Yet when they sat on the long window seat, and he turned his handsome face toward her, with that newer, better look on it, she could not believe that this awful thing was true.
"Now then—What is wrong between us?" he said.
She answered only, "I will tell you the worst, Morton. I cannot marry you—ever."
He whitened to the lips, but asked quietly, "Why?"