"Ah, Mr. Clifford," she cried, "you ought to know that you are not crushing a ghost's hand."
"Pardon me. What I meant was that I thought I had seen you before, but you are a new revelation every time I see you."
"I can't interpret visions."
"Please don't say that, for I must ask you to interpret one to-night.
What does Shakespeare say about those who have power? I hope you will use
yours mercifully. Oh, Miss Hargrove, you are so beautiful that I believe
I should lose my reason if you sent me away without hope."
"Mr. Clifford, you are talking wildly," was her faint response.
"I fear I am. I am almost desperate from fear, for I have a terribly hard duty to perform."
"Indeed!" she said, withdrawing her hand, which he relinquished most reluctantly, dreading that he might never receive it again.
"Do not assume that attitude, Miss Hargrove, or I shall lose courage utterly."
"Truly, Mr. Clifford," she said, a little satirically, seating herself on a sofa, "I never imagined you deficient in courage. Is it a terrible duty to entertain me for a half-hour, and say good-by?"
"Yes. Nothing could be worse than that, if that were all;" and he looked at her appealingly and in such perplexed distress that she laughed outright.