“I do not understand,” said he, putting his hat down, and leaning one elbow upon the piano, while his deep eyes fixed themselves upon my face, and, as usual, began to compel my secrets from me.
“I am going home,” said I.
A quick look of feeling—whether astonishment, regret, or dismay, I should not like to have said—flashed across his face.
“Have you had bad news?”
“Yes, very. Miss Hallam returns to England next week.”
“But why do you go? Why not remain here?”
“Gladly, if I had any money,” I said, with a dry smile. “But I have none, and can not get any.”
“You will return to England now? Do you know what you are giving up?”
“Obligation has no choice,” said I, gracefully. “I would give anything if I could stay here, and not go home again.” And with that I burst into tears. I covered my face with my hands, and all the pent-up grief and pain of the coming parting streamed from my eyes. I wept uncontrollably.
He did not interrupt my tears for some time. When he did speak, it was in a very gentle voice.