Basil followed her, and shut the door behind him.
"Now look here," he said. "I don't want to hector you, nor any nonsense of that sort, but you have got to tell me the truth without making any bones about it. What's up with you, Ermengarde—what's wrong?"
He had set the lamp on the mantelpiece, and stood himself facing its full light. His olive-tinted face looked stern and dark; there was no tenderness in his manner.
Ermengarde drew up her slight little figure proudly. "You are not my father," she said. "I won't answer you when you speak to me in that tone."
"All right! you shall come to the one who has a right to order you. Come along."
"No, Basil, no; how can you be so unkind?"
She wrenched her hand from his clasp. Her words came out in a sob, tears rushed to her eyes.
"O Basil, I have always loved you."
"Stuff, this is no minute for sentiment. I love honorable and truthful girls; I loved a sister who was that. Now tell me the truth, and be quick about it, for if you don't, I'll take you to father; he's not in bed, but he will be soon, so you had better make up your mind at once."
"What am I to say to you, Basil?"