“Then why are you so cold and strange and distant? Have I offended you, darling?”
“Oh no, John; indeed, no.”
“I could not visit you more frequently, Miriam. I could not join you abroad, for, as you know, my circumstances are only moderate, and I have to keep very, very close to the business. Ruddle does not spare me much. Are you annoyed because you think I slight you?”
“Oh no, no, John—indeed no.”
“Yes, that is it,” he cried; “you think I ought to have come down when you were staying at Rowford.”
“Can you not believe me, John,” she said coldly, “when I tell you that there are no grounds for such a charge? You ought to know me better now.”
“I do know you better, my own, my beautiful darling,” he cried passionately; “but you drive me nearly mad. We have been engaged now so many weary months, and yet I seem to occupy no warmer position in your heart than when I first met you. It is dreadful!”
I heard him get up and walk about the room, while she sat perfectly silent.
“You rebuff me,” he cried angrily. “You are cold and distant; my every advance is met by some chilly look. Good heavens! Miriam, are we engaged to be man and wife, or not?”
“You are unjust, John, in your anger,” said Miss Carr in her low, sweet voice. “I do not rebuff you, and I am never intentionally cold. Indeed, I try to meet you as the man who is to be my husband.”