"I know it, and I am going home to-morrow."
"Are you daft, Florence?" said Marion, amazed at her friend's abruptness.
"No, I mean it," replied Florence. "But it is not because you have treated me badly, my dear. I did not mean to tell you so suddenly, but something happened a short time ago which makes me feel I had better leave. Please don't ask me about it, dear," she continued, seeing the questioning expression in Marion's eyes. "I only feel that it will be wiser for me to go away."
"Why, Florence," said Marion sympathetically, "can't you trust me?"
"It is not because I can't trust you, my dear," she replied. "You understand me, don't you? I think it would be kinder for me not to remain, and then," she added hesitatingly, "I want to be away where I can better think it over."
"Yes, I understand," Marion answered. "You are such a queer girl, though; how could you keep so quiet about it?"
"I didn't feel that I could talk about it. I am queer, I suppose, but you will forgive me if I go away, won't you? I have thought it over for three days and I feel it is best."
"I will forgive you, of course, my dear; but, O, Florence, do be sure you are doing right. Don't make a mistake."
"That is why I am going away. I will know better then."
At this moment a man quietly entered the room. He had delicately cut features and a determined mouth, softened by gentle, brown eyes. His dark hair was slightly tinged with grey upon the temples, and his colorless complexion indicated a man whose life was little spent in the open air, a fact somewhat emphasized by his slightly stooping shoulders and thin, nervous hands. His clothes were plain and neat, but without any of the pronounced effects of fashion, and his entire appearance was decidedly that of one who is termed in America "a business man."