"It was very—very good of you, Philip."
"Good of me! Why do you speak in that cold, guarded voice? Goodness had nothing to say to the matter. I could not help myself. What's the matter, Frances? A great change has come over you since the morning. Are you in trouble? Tell me what is troubling you, my darling?"
Frances began to cry silently.
"You must not use loving words to me," she said; "they—they wring my heart. I can not tell you what is the matter, Philip, at least for a week. And—oh! if you would let me answer you in a week—and oh! poor Philip, I am afraid there is very little hope."
"Why so, Frances; don't you love me?"
"I—I—ought not to say it. Let me go back to the house now."
"I shall do nothing of the kind. Do you love me?"
"Philip, I said I would give you an answer in a week."
"This has nothing to say to your answer. You surely know now whether you love me or not."
"I—Philip, can't you see? Need I speak?"