“But we must see each other oftener,” Lacour was saying. “If Mrs. Clarendon will welcome me———-”
She interrupted him harshly.
“Is Mrs. Clarendon the only person you consult henceforth?”
“My dear Ada, you mustn’t misunderstand a mere form of politeness.”
“Such forms have always been disagreeable to me.”
She rose and moved to the fire-place. Lacour watched her from under his eyebrows. It grew more and more evident how strong was his hold upon her; he asked himself whether a little innocent quarrel might not best serve his ends.
“I am wearying you,” he said, rising.
She could not let him go without plain question and answer; it seemed to her that she had reached the limit of endurance, that her strength would fail under the trial of another hour. Yet her lips would form no word.
“In what have I displeased you, Ada?” Vincent inquired, with an air of much surprise.
“Clearly I have done so. Pray tell me what I have said or done.”