Eleanor looked up brightly,
“It might clear the air,” she suggested.
Aunt Philomela was thoughtful a moment. Then she observed, “I think in the morning you had better see Carl.”
So the next morning she had received Carl. He was very solicitous as to what had caused her relapse and she, acting upon a sudden inspiration, tried to admit him into the secret of her thoughts.
“Carl,” she said frankly, “I don’t know what has come over me. Honestly I don’t. But ever since our—our engagement I’ve felt stifled. It may be just hysteria. But I’ve felt all hemmed in.”
He took her hand.
“I think I know what it is,” he said tenderly. “You feel as though you had been made a prisoner?”
“Is it that?” she questioned eagerly.
“Yes. That is it,” he decided. “Living here so much by yourself these last few years you’ve been very free. But I don’t want to feel that now I bind you in anyway.”
“You don’t. That’s what I can’t understand.” She frowned and then went on, “Why I’m just as free as ever I was. I can move about as I wish; I can do what I choose. There’s nothing I wish to do that I can’t do. I guess I’m just silly.”