"Impossible!"
She was silent, waiting for him to feel how hurt she was and to reassure her. But he stood aloof, and presently asked in a constrained voice, "How long will you be at your father's?"
"At my father's!" she exclaimed. "Why, I shall not go!"
"You must," he insisted. "You've made all the arrangements."
"You can send me away—now?"
"Please—dear. Don't be unreasonable. If you changed your plan everybody'd think it strange."
"Everybody—who?"
"Nanny, for instance."
"Nanny? Why should I care what Nanny thinks? My first scare was only—guilty conscience. Basil, why are you so queer—so absent and—distant? Tell me—just what it is in your mind?"
She rested her hands pleadingly on his shoulders and looked up at him. In her eyes, as in his, shone the fever of their delirium. He took her hands, kissed her. "Don't be foolish," he said, trying to laugh. "I guess I am a little bit unnerved."