The colours faded from his brilliant proposal. "Oh, I only meant till something was settled—determined—concluded; till this terrible suspense was over." He added hopelessly, "But nothing can be done!"
"I proposed," said Imogene, "that we should all go away. I suggested Via Reggio—the doctor said she ought to have sea air—or Venice; but she wouldn't hear of it. No; we must wait."
"Yes, we must wait," repeated Colville hollowly. "Then nothing can be done?"
"Why, haven't you said it?"
"Oh yes—yes. I can't go away, and you can't. But couldn't we do something—get up something?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"I mean, couldn't we—amuse her somehow? help her to take her mind off herself?"
Imogene stared at him rather a long time. Then, as if she had satisfied herself in her own mind, she shook her head. "She wouldn't submit to it."
"No; she seems to take everything amiss that I do," said Colville.
"She has no right to do that," cried Imogene. "I'm sure that you're always considering her, and proposing to do things for her. I won't let you humble yourself, as if you had wronged her."