Irene glanced at him, and perceived that he did not wear his wonted countenance. This she had anticipated, with an uneasiness which now hardened in her mind to something like resentment.
"Yes. I hoped you would excuse me. I have a little headache."
"Oh, I'm sorry!"
He was perfectly suave. He looked at her with a good-natured anxiety. Irene tried to smile.
"You won't mind if I leave all that to you? Your judgment is quite enough. If you really like the house, take it at once. I shall be delighted."
"It's rather a responsibility, you know. Suppose we wait till to-morrow?"
Irene's nerves could not endure an argument. She gave a strange laugh, and exclaimed:
"Are you afraid of responsibilities? In this case, you must really face it. Screw up your courage."
Decidedly, Arnold was not himself. He liked an engagement of banter; it amused him to call out Irene's spirit, and to conquer in the end by masculine force in guise of affectionate tolerance. To-day he seemed dull, matter-of-fact, inclined to vexation; when not speaking, he had a slightly absent air, as if ruminating an unpleasant thought.
"Of course I will do as you wish, Irene. Just let me describe the house——"