"I mean," he replies, "that I will go back to America to-day with you, and I will try to do my duty by you in future if only you will forgive me for shirking it in the first instance, and running away in such a dastardly fashion."
Two crimson spots rise into her cheeks, her lashes fall lower.
"But—but we are not going back to-day," she explains, in an agitated voice, telling him what her uncle's physician had said.
"Not get away for two weeks?" he says. "Very well, Reine, then I shall leave the Haven of Rest and come to stay at Sea View Hotel, and it must be publicly made known that you are mine."
"Indeed you will not, then," she breaks out with sudden self-assertion. "I am not willing."
"Not willing?" he cries, and Reine's quick ear fancies it detects a tone of relief in his voice. "You refuse to be my wife, Reine—woman-like, taking revenge for a transient wrong."
"It is not that," she says, falteringly; "I am not angry with you, Vane, but it is best to—to wait."
"Until when?" he asks, bending his curious eyes on the bright, arch face.
And looking frankly at him, she replies, gently: