"You know, it is necessary to say something, that I may know where I stand. I must either stay or go. Will you send me away? or keep me 'for good,' as the children say?"
The tone was not without a touch of grave anxiety now, and impatient earnestness, which Lois heard well enough and would have answered; but it seemed as if her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. Mr. Dillwyn waited now for her to speak, keeping the horses at a walk, and bending down a little to hear what she would say. One sleigh passed them, then another. It became intolerable to Lois.
"I do not want to send you away," she managed finally to say, trembling.
The words, however, were clear and slow-spoken, and Mr. Dillwyn asked no more then. He drove on, and attended to his driving, even went fast; and Lois hardly knew how houses and rocks and vehicles flew past them, till the reins were drawn at Mrs. Wishart's door. Philip whistled; a groom presently appeared from the house and took the horses, and he lifted Lois out. As they were going up the steps he asked softly,
"Is that all you are going to say to me?"
"Isn't it enough for to-night?" Lois returned.
"I see you think so," he said, half laughing. "I don't; but, however—Are you going to be alone to-morrow morning, or will you take another sleigh ride with me?"
"Mrs. Wishart and Madge are going to Mme. Cisco's matinée."
"At what o'clock?"
"They will leave here at half-past ten."