"Only for a day, I suppose."
"It depends on my luck. You will get on better when I'm away."
"It's cruel for you to speak like that," she replied, her eyes moistening.
"I suppose it is," was his rueful reply; "but I can be more patient, I imagine, back in the mountains than here."
"But how about poor me?"
"That is a question that I often ask myself, Miss Wildmere, but you alone can answer it. As far as I am able to judge, you can meet the problem in your mind, whatever it is, as well, if not better, in my absence. You must understand me, and I have promised to be reasonably patient."
"Very well, Mr. Muir," she replied, in apparent sadness, "I will try not to tax your patience beyond what you well term reason."
"Something far beyond reason, and—I may add—pride also, permits you to tax it all. I would rather not revert to this topic again. It is embarrassing to us both. I cannot help saying, however, that it is essential to my happiness that the present state of affairs should soon cease."
"If it were only present happiness that one had to consider—" she began, and then hastened away.
Thus she played upon his sympathy, and held him by the generous side of his nature.