“Yes, but you will be there?”
“No,” he said gravely; “I am not going.”
“Not going!” she cried. “Why, you were asked.”
“How do you know?”
She turned crimson, and avoided his searching look.
“Did Mrs Pontardent tell you?”
“Yes, and you will go?”
“No,” he said; “I declined. Why was I asked—do you know?”
She darted an appealing look at him; and the haughty, self-assertive woman seemed to be completely changed.
“Don’t—don’t be angry with me,” she said. “I—I thought it would be so pleasant if you were going to be there.”