"Your words are enigmas; I would hear from your own lips the answers to them."
"As you insist," said Agatha calmly, "I shall finish it. To you, who"—slowly, defiantly—"are abhorrent to me!"
"You think to marry that young fool!" said he. "And I tell you you never shall. I shall not allow it. Your aunt will not allow it."
"Mrs. Greatorex is not my aunt," said Agatha. "But am I to understand, then, that you are going to bring her into this hateful matter?"
"I shall certainly tell her how things are," returned he doggedly.
"You would coerce me—you would compel me to accept you!" cried she miserably, a vision of Mrs. Greatorex's anger rising before her.
"I compel you in no wise! I would only have careful consideration where your best interests are concerned. I can supply you with all that makes life bearable. I can surround you with luxuries— and Dillwyn, what can he do?"
"I don't want him to do anything," said Agatha slowly. She said nothing more for a moment and the meaning of her words sank into Darkham's heart. No, Dillwyn need do nothing. She loved him— love was sufficient! What more was wanting? Agatha's voice broke through his wretched thoughts. "I do not understand your allusions to Dr. Dillwyn. He is merely a friend, an acquaintance of mine. No more."
"No more!" He mimicked her tone, and burst into queer laughter.
"Would you swear to that? Ay! I suppose—and die for it—just because he has not said to you what I have said to-day. But you will never marry him. Mark that! You will marry me!"