"Which I cannot give you," said Kate, her colour rising, and looking steadfastly in his dark eyes.
"You cannot give me!" said Reginald, haughtily. "Do I understand you rightly, Kate?"
She laid her hand on his, with a gentle, caressing touch, and bent forward. She loved him too deeply and tenderly to bear that cold, proud tone.
"We have never quarrelled yet, Reginald," she said, sweetly. "Let us not quarrel now. I cannot give you the explanation you ask; but papa shall."
He lifted the beautiful hand to his lips, feeling somehow, that he was unworthy to touch the hem of her garment.
"You are an angel, Kate—incapable of doing wrong. I ought to be content without an explanation, knowing you as I do; but—"
"But you must have one, nevertheless. Reginald, I am sorry you saw me last night."
He looked at her, hardly knowing what to say. She was gazing sadly out at the sunny prospect.
"Poor fellow!" she said, half to herself, "poor fellow! Those midnight walks are almost all the comfort he has in this world, and now he will be afraid to venture out any more."
Still Stanford sat silent.