"Oh—oh—good-morning!" she smiled. "You—wanted to speak with me—Dick?"
"I—yes—that is—er—have you the Carlyles' invitation?"
It was, perhaps, an unlucky excuse. Lavinia turned away and fought against her tears.
"I—I believe—'tis in my—escritoire," she managed to say. "I—I will look for it."
She rose and unlocked the bureau, standing with her back to him.
"'Tis no matter," stammered Carstares. "I—only—'twas but that I could not find it. Pray do not disturb yourself!"
"Oh—not—at all," she answered, scattering a handful of letters before her. "Yes—here 'tis." She came up to him with the note in her hand, extending it.
Carstares looked down at the golden head, and at the little face with its eyes cast down, and red mouth set so wistfully. Heavens, how could he bear to live without her! Mechanically he took the letter.
Lavinia turned away, and as she stepped from him something snapped in Richard's brain. The luckless invitation was flung down.
"No, by God you shall not!" he cried suddenly.