"Then you are afraid of me—simply!"
She turned straight round, very pale. "Of course I am. You're welcome to know it."
He went toward her, and for a moment she seemed to make another slight movement of retreat. This, however, was scarcely perceptible, and there was nothing to alarm in the tone of reasonable entreaty in which he spoke as he stood there. "Put an end, Julia, to our absurd situation—it really can't go on. You've no right to expect a man to be happy or comfortable in so false a position. We're spoken of odiously—of that we may be sure; and yet what good have we of it?"
"Spoken of? Do I care for that?"
"Do you mean you're indifferent because there are no grounds? That's just why I hate it."
"I don't know what you're talking about!" she returned with sharp disdain.
"Be my wife to-morrow—be my wife next week. Let us have done with this fantastic probation and be happy."
"Leave me now—come back to-morrow. I'll write to you." She had the air of pleading with him at present, pleading as he pleaded.
"You can't resign yourself to the idea of one's looking 'out of it'!" Nick laughed.
"Come to-morrow, before lunch," she went on.