He said coolly:
"Men don't do that sort of thing as a rule. Weak intellects seek that refuge from trouble; but his is not a weak character."
"I won't talk about it," she said. "I've told you more than I ever meant to. Now you know where I stand, what I fear—his death!—if I dishonour dad's memory and go away with you. And if I ask divorce, he will give it to me—and then kill himself. Do you think I could accept even you on such terms as these?"
"No," he said.
He looked at her intently. She stood there very white, now, her grey eyes and the masses of chestnut hair accentuating her pallour.
"All right," he said, "I'll take you to town."
"You need not."
"Won't you let me?"
"Yes, if you wish.... When you go downstairs, tell them to send up my trunks. Tell one of the maids to come."
"You can't go off this way, to-night. You've two guests here," he said in a dull voice.