"Forget myself! I wish I could. You shall not go to Naples."
"And how can you prevent it?"
"Are you daring me?"
"By no means," answered Pauline; and this time she really tried to speak gently. "I was calling to your remembrance the fact that there is no tie between us, Mr. Ash; you have no shadow of authority over my actions; I am free to do as I please."
"I know you are; that is the worst of it," he said, almost with a groan. "Pauline, don't play with me now. I have given up hoping for anything for myself—if I ever really did hope; I am not worthy of you. Whether you could make me worthy I don't know; but I don't ask you that; I don't ask you to try; it would be too much. I only ask you to be as you have been; as you were, I mean, during all those many weeks, not as you have been lately. Only a few days are left when I can see you freely; be kind to me, then, during those few days, and then I will take myself off."
"I mean to be kind; I am kind."
"Then ride with me to-morrow; just this once more."
"But I told you it was impossible; I told you I was going to Naples."
The pleading vanished from Ash's face and voice. "I never asked you to do that—to go off with me for a whole day."
Pauline did not answer; she was arranging the flowers which Mrs. Ash had industriously gathered.