“Certainly not, Lilian.”
“Did you write that cruel note which came this morning, Paley? I cannot believe it.”
“I did write it, Lilian; but if you are sick we will not talk about that,” I replied, tenderly, but firmly.
“But we must talk about it. Do you mean to say that you will print that horrid advertisement?”
“Most certainly I shall, if you persist in your present course. It is not right for me to support a wife who will not live with me. If you are sick, we will defer all action until you are better.”
“I am not well, but I wanted to see you about this awful business. Have you ceased to love me, Paley?”
“No, Lilian.”
Perhaps Mrs. Oliphant had tried to stay down stairs, and permit her daughter to pour out her griefs to me alone; but if she had tried, she had not succeeded; and at this stage of the interview she entered the room, without the ceremony of knocking.
“I am glad you have come, Paley, for we want to talk over this disagreeable business.”
“Lilian’s note informed me that she was sick, and I came to see her, but not to talk over any matter. If she is ill—”