She could have screamed with irritation.
"Arnold, I entreat you! The house is nothing to me. I mean, one will do as well as another, if you are satisfied."
"So be it. I will never touch on the subject again."
His tone was decisive. Irene knew that he would literally keep his word. This was the side of his character which she liked, which had always impressed her; and for the moment her nerves were soothed.
"You will forgive me?" she said gently.
"Forgive you for having a headache?—Will it prevent you from coming to us this evening?"
"I should be grateful if you let me choose another day."
He did not stay very long. At leave-taking, he raised her hand to his lips, and Irene felt that he did it gracefully. But when she was alone again, his manner, so slightly yet so noticeably changed, became the harassing subject of her thought. That the change resulted from annoyance at the scandal in her family she could not doubt; such a thing would be hard for Arnold to bear. When were they to speak of it? Speak they must, if the affair went on to publicity. And, considering the natural difficulty Arnold would find in approaching such a subject, ought not she to take some steps of her own initiative?
By evening, she saw the position in a very serious light. She asked herself whether it did not behove her to offer to make an end of their engagement.
"Your aunt has brain fever," said Dr. Derwent, in the library after dinner. And Irene shuddered with dread.