"Richard," said Mrs. Yocomb, putting both her hands on my arm, "I should feel more hurt than I can tell thee if thee leaves us now."
"Why, Mrs. Yocomb! I didn't think you would care so much."
"Then thee's very blind, Richard. I didn't think thee'd say that."
"You cut deep now; suppose I must go?"
"Why must thee go, just as thee is beginning to gain? Thee is as pale as a ghost this minute, and thee doesn't weigh much more than half as much as I do. Still, we don't want to put an unwelcome constraint on thee."
I took her hand in both of mine as I said earnestly, "God forbid that I should ever escape from any constraint that you put upon me. Well, I won't go to-day, and I'll see what word my mail brings me." And I went up to my room, not trusting myself to glance at the real controller of my action, but hoping that something would occur which would make my course clear. As I came out of my room to go down to dinner, Miss Warren intercepted me, saying eagerly:
"Mr. Morton, don't go. If you should be ill again in New York, as Mrs.
Yocomb says—"
"I won't be ill again."
"Please don't go," she entreated. "I—I shouldn't have said what I did.
You would be ill; Mrs. Yocomb would never forgive me."
"Miss Warren, I will do what you wish."