As she said this a cold chill passed through her. But it was too late. Dacres's arms were around her. He had drawn her to him, and pressed her against his breast, and she felt hot tears upon her head.
"Oh, Arethusa!" cried Dacres.
"Well," said Mrs. Willoughby, as soon as she could extricate herself, "there's a mistake, you know."
"A mistake, darling?"
"Oh dear, what shall I do?" thought Mrs. Willoughby; "he's beginning again. I must stop this, and bring him to his senses. How terrible it is to humor a delirious man!"
"Oh, Arethusa!" sighed Dacres once more.
Mrs. Willoughby arose.
"I'm not Arethusa at all," said she; "that isn't my name. If you can shake off your delirium, I wish you would. I really do."
"What!" cried Dacres, in amazement.
"I'm not Arethusa at all; that isn't my name."