"What do you want?" she asks, more crossly than before.
"First of all, your sympathy," he replies, gravely.
"Oh, indeed! is this what you had to tell me that could bear no delay?"
He moves his chair a little nearer to her. "Lina," he murmurs, "we have become very much estranged of late."
"Whose fault is it?" she asks, dryly.
"Partly mine," he sadly confesses.
"Only partly?" she replies, sharply. "That is a matter of opinion. The other way of stating it is that you neglected me and I put up with it."
"I left you to yourself, because--because I thought I wearied you," he stammers, conscious that he is not telling quite the truth, knowing that he had hailed the first symptoms of her indifference as a relief.
"It certainly is true that I have not grieved myself to death over your neglect. It was not my way to sue humbly for your favour. But let that go; let us speak of real things, of the matter which will not bear delay." She smiles contemptuously.
"True," he replies; "I had forgotten it in my own personal affairs. I wanted to ask a favour of you."