I heard him drearily. It was true then, an actual, dread reality. I summoned strength to ask—
"Why must we part, Cornelius?"
"Why?" he echoed sadly.
"You must not go, I will not let you," I exclaimed passionately, "or if you go, you must take me with you. I have money of my own; I will be no cost to you, but I will not leave you."
He wanted to speak; I laid my hand on his lips.
"I tell you that you must either stay at home or take me with you," I said wilfully, "I too want to see Spain."
"Daisy, I am not going to Spain."
"Where then? To Italy? What for? Who have you left there that is so very dear? Oh! I see! I see! Go, Cornelius, go." And I disengaged myself with wounded pride from the embrace he could find it in his heart to bestow, with that heart full—as I thought in the jealousy of the moment—of another.
"That's right, Daisy!" he replied bitterly, "that's right! Make me feel to the end the fever and torment of the last two months."
"Are you or are you not going away to marry?" I said, confronting him.