“You seem to know a great deal about my sister,” Elizabeth declared reflectively. “You call her by her Christian name and you appear to see her frequently. Perhaps, even, you are fond of her.”
Tavernake met his questioner's inquiring gaze blankly. He was almost indignant.
“Fond of her!” he exclaimed. “I have never been fond of any one in my life, or anything—except my work,” he added.
She looked at him a little bewildered at first.
“Oh, you strange person!” she cried, her lips breaking into a delightful smile. “Don't you know that you haven't begun to live at all yet? You don't even know anything about life, and at the back of it all you have capacity. Yes,” she went on, “I think that you have the capacity for living.”
Her hand fell upon his with a little gesture which was half a caress. He looked around him as though seeking for escape. He was on his feet now and he clutched at his hat.
“I must go,” he insisted almost roughly.
“Am I keeping you?” she asked innocently. “Well, you shall go as soon as you please, only you must promise me one thing. You must come back, say within a week, and let me know how my sister is. I am not half so brutal as you think. I really am anxious about her. Please!”
“I will promise that,” he answered.
“Wait one moment, then,” she begged, turning to the letters by her side. “There is just something I want to ask you. Don't be impatient—it is entirely a matter of business.”