"Yes," said Vesper, shortly.
Rose got up and went to the pantry.
"Will you put the things on this table?" said Vesper. "And will not you and Agapit have breakfast with me?"
Rose nodded her head, and, with a breaking heart, she went to and fro, her feet touching the hardwood floor and the rugs as noiselessly as if there had been a death in the house.
The two young men sat and stared at the stove or out the windows. Agapit was anathematizing Vesper for returning to settle a matter that could have been arranged by writing, and Vesper was alternately in a dumb fury with Agapit for not leaving him alone with Rose, or in a state of extravagant laudation because he did not do so. What a watch-dog he was,—what a sure guardian to leave over his beautiful sweetheart!
Dispirited and without appetite, the three at last assembled around the table. Rose choked over every morsel that she ate, until, unable longer to endure the trial, she left the table, and contented herself with waiting upon them.
Vesper was famished, having eaten so little the evening before, yet he turned away from the toast and coffee and chops that Rose set before him.
"I will go now; Agapit, come to the gate with me. I want to speak to you."
Rose started violently. It seemed to her that her whole agitated, overwrought soul had gone out to her lover in a shriek of despair, yet she had not uttered a sound.
Vesper could not endure the agony of her eyes. "Rose," he said, stretching out his hands to her, "will you do as I wish?"