"I will. I'll go this week if I can."
"This week? You must take me to-night!" she cried. "What do you suppose is going to become of me? I can't stop here.... Shall I give you another cup?"
Kent felt the blood sinking from his face. His hands shook as he bent over the fire, and for a moment he had no voice to reply.
"You don't go back to Monmouth to-night?" he asked harshly, without looking at her.
"N—no," she said; "I can't go back till to-morrow."
"I was thinking of the child," he muttered.
"He's as safe with the nurse as with me," she answered; "I wouldn't have left him even for a day if he hadn't been."
"I see," said Kent.
His pause appeared to him to become significant and terrible.
"I can't go there with you this evening," he said abruptly; "it can't be done. I have to be here—there is some one I must meet. I mean, I can take you there, but I can't possibly stay. You—you must forgive me, Cynthia."