“Humph! Well, 'twould take more than that boy's word to make me believe it. No there's something!—I wish I could see that young fellow myself. He's at the Continental Hotel, you say?”
“Yes; but he leaves to-morrow. There, Hephzy, that's enough. Don't talk about it. Change the subject. I am ready to go back to England—yes, or America either, whenever you say the word. The sooner the better for me.”
Hephzy obediently changed the subject and we decided to leave Paris the following afternoon. We would go back to the rectory, of course, and leave there for home as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made. Hephzy agreed to everything, she offered no objections, in fact it seemed to me that she was paying very little attention. Her lack of interest—yes, and apparent lack of sympathy, for I knew she must know what my decision meant to me—hurt and irritated me.
I rose.
“Good night,” I said, curtly. “I'm going to bed.”
“That's right, Hosy. You ought to go. You'll be sick again if you sit up any longer. Good night, dearie.”
“And you?” I asked. “What are you going to do?”
“I'm going to set up a spell longer. I want to think.”
“I don't. I wish I might never think again. Or dream, either. I am awake at last. God knows I wish I wasn't!”
She moved toward me. There was the same odd expression on her face and a queer, excited look in her eyes.