“My dear Miriam—” began John Lister; but she turned from him.
“Antony,” she cried imperiously, and her handsome eyes flashed as she stamped her foot; “I insist upon knowing the meaning of those words.”
I was silent.
“It was nothing, my dear Miriam,” exclaimed John Lister. Then in a low voice to me, “Go: I’ll cover your retreat.”
Go, and run off like a coward? No; that I felt I could not do, and I looked indignantly at him.
“If you value my friendship, Antony,” cried Miss Carr, “tell me, I insist, what you meant by that accusation of Mr Lister.”
“I do—I do value your friendship, Miss Carr,” I cried passionately, “but don’t, pray don’t ask me. I cannot—I will not tell.”
“I command you to tell me,” she cried: and to my young eyes she looked queen-like in her beauty, as she seemed to compel me to obey.
Mature thought tells me that she must indeed have seemed even majestic in her bearing, for John Lister looked pale and haggard, and I saw him again and again moisten his dry lips and essay to speak.
“I cannot tell you,” I said; “Miss Carr, pray do not ask me!” I cried piteously.