"I will—will——!"
It was no pretty sight to watch her striving to speak, her mouth opening and shutting without sound, her hands against her throat.
Then she looked at him suddenly, smiling sweetly, and put both hands in his, while he, sick with pain and unconfessed fear, changed the conversation abruptly by the grace of understanding.
"I think you ought to go away, Leonie—to the hills—for a change.
It's getting frightfully hot, why don't you?"
"Yes!—I might—I think I will—I'm so tired of everything—so very—very tired!"
"Where to, dear?"
Leonie bent her head a little sideways as though listening, made a strange little movement with both her hands, then placed the open palms against her forehead and replied:
"To Benares!"
She had barely whispered the words, so quietly did she speak, as the poinsettia flowers bent slightly—to a passing breeze—may be!