"No one is nearer. I have always been alone."
"That is cynical—and it is not true." He paused. "Every one likes you."
"Well they may! When have I been—permitted myself to be disagreeable? When have I ever failed to be kind? I have always repressed myself. What is the result? I have been at everybody's beck and call, I have been expected to bear everything in silence; to listen, always to listen, and never to reply." She spoke with bitterness, keeping on with her writing meanwhile.
"It is perfectly true—what you say, and I think you have done too much of it. Are you getting tired of the rôle?"
"I am tired at least of East Angels; I cannot go back there."
"You think Aunt Katrina will talk about Lanse in her usual style—about this second going away of his? I myself will tell her the whole story—it is time she knew it! She will talk about him no more."
"It isn't that." She threw down her pen and rose. "I need a complete change, I must have it. But I shall arrange it myself. The only thing you can do for me is to leave me free; I should like it if you would go back to East Angels—if you would go to-day; you only trouble me by staying here, and you trouble me greatly."
"Margaret, it's outrageous the way you treat me. What have I done that I should be thrust off in this way? And it's a very sudden change, too; you were not so that night in the swamp."
"It's kind to bring that up. I was tired—nervous; I wasn't myself—"
"You're yourself now, never fear," he interpolated, angrily.