"Oh, don't mind it," he said. "If you wish me to go, I will go! Or die in the attempt," he added, with a smile.
Imogene did not smile with him. "I don't wish you to go any more. It was a mistake in the first place, and from this out I will adapt myself to you."
"And give up all your pleasures? Do you think I would let you do that? No, indeed! Neither in this nor in anything else. I will not cut off your young life in any way, Imogene—not shorten it or diminish it. If I thought I should do that, or you would try to do it for me, I should wish I had never seen you."
"It isn't that. I know how good you are, and that you would do anything for me."
"Well, then, why don't you go to these fandangoes alone? I can see that you have me on your mind all the time, when I'm with you."
"Oughtn't I?"
"Yes, up to a certain point, but not up to the point of spoiling your fun. I will drop in now and then, but I won't try to come to all of them, after this; you'll get along perfectly well with Mrs. Amsden, and I shall be safe from her for a while. That old lady has marked me for her prey: I can see it in her glittering eyeglass. I shall fall asleep some evening between dances, and then she will get it all out of me."
Imogene still refused to smile. "No; I shall give it up. I don't think it's well, going so much without Mrs. Bowen. People will begin to talk."
"Talk?"
"Yes; they will begin to say that I had better stay with her a little more, if she isn't well."