"Will you tell me why?" he asked.
"Because—I—am already betrothed—to Mr. Sinclair. Because I never could love any one but him."
The shadows began to darken in the little sitting-room. The Japanese was standing almost as if petrified to the spot, immovable, silent. Suddenly she turned to him.
"Forgive me," she said, and tried to take his hand.
He turned slowly and left the room without one backward look.
The silence of the room frightened her. She went to a window and put her head out. A sudden vague terror of she knew not what seized her. Why was everything so still? Why did he leave her like that? If he only had reproached her—that would have been better;—but to go without a word to her! It was awful—it was uncanny—cruel. What did he intend to do? She began to conjure up in her mind all sorts of imaginary terrors. She told herself that she hated the stillness of the Japanese atmosphere; she wanted to go away—back to America, where she could forget everything—where, perhaps, Sinclair would be to her as he had been in the old days. She had been on a nervous strain all day, and she broke down utterly.
Mrs. Davis found her walking up and down the room hysterically.
"There, dear—it is all over now,"—she put her arms about the girl and tried to soothe her.
"No, no, Jen; I feel it is not over. I think—I imagine—Oh, Jenny, I don't know what to think. He acted so queerly. I don't know what to think. I dread everything. Jenny," she put her hand feverishly on the other woman's shoulder, "tell me about these Japanese—can they—do they feel as deeply as we do?"
"Yes—no; don't let's talk about them, dear. Remember, they are giving you and the travelers a big party to-night at the hotel. You must dress—it is nearly eight now."