She left her chair and stood up before him, smiling.
"The sky was not blue," she said, "nor the hills purple; there were no chestnut trees, and no carnations. Let us go and sit with the rest, and listen to Mr. Arbuthnot and admire Miss Varien's sleeves."
But he stood perfectly still.
"I told you I was going away," he said, "and I am going. To-morrow I shall come and see the children—unless you tell me that you do not wish to see me again."
"I shall not tell you that," she returned, "because it would be at once uncivil and untrue."
"Then I shall come," he said.
"That will be kind of you," she responded, and gave him her hand, and after he had made his bow over it, and his adieus to the rest of the company, he left them.
Bertha crossed the room and stood near the fire, putting one foot on the fender, and shivering a little.
"Are you cold?" asked Miss Varien.
"Yes—no," she answered. "If I did not know better, I should think I was."