“You have kept me long,” were her first words, and as she spoke them her hand pressed upon her bosom. “I thought you would come at once.”
The sound of her speaking had the effect of a cold hand upon his forehead. He saw with clear vision; the throbbing at his temples allayed itself.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “Why have you sent for me?”
With perfect consciousness he made his tone as gentle as he could. His words did not seem to himself spontaneous; these were prompted to him from within, and she repeated them as if playing a part.
Isabel came nearer, and held to him the photograph he had returned her. Since sending the note, she had stood there with it in her hand; it was bent.
“Will you take it back again?” she asked. He saw her throat swell; she seemed to swallow something before she spoke.
He did not move to take it.
“You wish,” he replied, “to be a shopkeeper’s wife?”
With no smile he said it; yet it cost him an effort. Again it was the repetition of prompted words.
“I thought you had perhaps heard,” Isabel said, letting her hand fall again, and speaking quickly, still with that swelling of the throat. “Ada refuses to take what is hers by law. She has given it back to me.”