"Stop!" exclaimed Queenie in an unnatural voice. "You may be mistaken, Mr. Clayton has never spoken to me, it may not be as you think; but, on the other hand," growing whiter still, "I would scorn to deceive you, and I have thought—but I may be wrong—that he has seemed to care for me. I would not have said so much, but you have more than once hinted of my forwardness."
"Yes; but it has been only seeming," replied Dora softly; "he could not really have changed to me, you know. If you would only go away and leave us to come together it would soon be right again."
"You want me to go away?" asked Queenie slowly.
"Not for long—only for a few months, till he has got over his fancy, and come back to me. I don't want to hurt you, dear Miss Marriott, or to make you angry again, but if you knew how soon men find out these sort of things! Of course you thought it was gratitude and friendship, but he was wiser, and knew better than that; and when I made him angry he thought it very likely that you would console him."
"You have said enough," replied Queenie in the same constrained tone. "You will not have long to bear with my presence; I have already made up my mind not to remain in Hepshaw."
"And when shall you leave?" asked Dora eagerly.
"I—I don't know; in another month or two. I suppose there is nothing to keep me here now."
But this vague promise was not sufficient for Dora.
"Why do you not go at once?" she persisted. "You will think I am in a hurry to get rid of you, but that is not the only reason," hesitating.
She was deliberately breaking Queenie's heart, and she knew it, in spite of the girl's assumed quietness; but somehow she shrank from imposing this fresh pain.