He looked at her hard. "You rather mystify me."
"I'm sorry," she said again. "I sat down to write you a long letter to-day," she resumed, after an almost imperceptible hesitation. "In fact, I really began it, or rather I wrote a good many pages, and then I thought it would be fairer and braver to come here to you at once instead."
He leaned up against the table for support. "My dear child, I don't in the least understand your drift—I am bewildered."
She smiled wanly; yet the smile of one about to set forth in a cool, reasonable way a case that needed exposition, and that necessarily must carry conviction. "I was writing to ask you a favour. Now I have come to ask for it in person."
"It is yours to command." He inclined his head graciously and gallantly.
"You are sweet to me, as always," she returned. "But, as you will see, I am quite undeserving of your graciousness on this present occasion."
He laughed. "Modest as usual, my dear child! I'm afraid it's going to be one of the tasks of my life to impress you with a sense of your own merits."
"Please don't say any more nice things to me," she implored. "Your kindness hurts me."
He looked hard at her again, then passed his hand across his face. "Let me see," he said; "where were we? I confess I'm rather confused. Ah, yes, you said you preferred that we shouldn't go to the concert."
She drew her breath hard; her bosom palpitated. "Because I want you to set me free altogether." Her face was suddenly on fire, but an exultation thrilled through her. At last the words had been spoken; she was near the end.