"Ah! That is what is so deceptive about it," says Margaret eagerly. "One looks well, even whilst one is almost dying. I assure you these sudden attacks of—of toothache"—wildly—"are most trying. They take so much out of one."
"They must," says Maurice gravely. "So many attacks, and all endured at the same time, would shake the constitution of an annuitant. Headache, neuralgia, influenza, toothache! You have been greatly afflicted. Are you sure you feel no symptoms of hydrophobia?"
"Maurice——"
"No? So glad of that! My dear girl, why are you so anxious to get rid of me?"
"Anxious to get rid of you? What an absurd idea!"
"Well, if not that, what on earth do you mean?"
"I have told you! I have a headache."
"Like Lady Rylton. The fact is, Margaret," says he, turning upon her wrathfully, "she has bound you down not to listen to a word I can say in my own defence. The last day I was here you were very different. But I can see she has been at work since, and is fast prejudicing you against me. I call that most unfair. I don't blame you, though I think you might give half an hour to a cousin and an old friend—one who was your friend long before ever she saw you. You think the right is all on her side; but is it? Now I put it fairly to you. Is it?"
Margaret is quaking.
"My dear Maurice—I—you know how I feel for you—for"—with a frantic glance at the screen—"for both of you, but——"