He hesitated; he was unhappy, disturbed. “No,” he said, “but—”
“But she doesn’t know. Is it right to marry her before she knows?”
Potter looked at Hildegarde appealingly, but she dropped her eyes evasively.... He understood. His mother was right, and Hildegarde interpreted rightly the deep breath which he drew.
“I sha’n’t go home again. You sha’n’t make me.”
“You must, my dear,” said Mrs. Waite. “There is no other place for you to go. You must see that you can’t stay here.... It is impossible for you to go anywhere else.... It won’t be for long, Garde, if you care—not if you love him. But you must go home to-night.”
“I sha’n’t. I’ll never sleep under the same roof with father again.... Oh, you don’t know everything; you don’t know....” She could not finish. She stopped, too proud to beg, feeling her utter helplessness.... There was no place to go if she could not stay here. She was beaten. Fiercely she turned from Mrs. Waite to Potter. “Come,” she said, furiously.
“Won’t you kiss me good night, dear?” Mrs. Waite said, gently.
Garde refused to reply, but flung out of the room, followed by Potter. She would not allow him to help her into the car, and sat in moody silence as he started the engine.
“You don’t have to mind her,” she said, suddenly. “You’re not tied to her apron-strings.... If I’m willing to marry you, that’s my affair.... I sha’n’t go home.... We can go and be married some place.”
“No,” he said, heavily. “Mother was right.... If you loved me—”