“Then you will go back to England, will you not?”
“I don't know. We have made no plans as yet.”
“But you will go back. Miss Cahoon said you would. And, when your lease of the rectory expires, you will sail for America.”
“I don't know.”
“But you must know,” with a momentary impatience. “Surely you don't intend to remain here in Paris.”
“I don't know that, either. I haven't considered what I shall do. It depends—that is—”
I did not finish the sentence. I had said more than I intended and it was high time I stopped. But I had said too much, as it was. She asked more questions.
“Upon what does it depend?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing. I did not mean that it depended upon anything in particular. I—”
“You must have meant something. Tell me—answer me truthfully, please: Does it depend upon me?”