"And shall you let it go on so?"
"No. I will tell him myself."
"How will you tell him?"
"I will tell him if he speaks to me."
"You will let it come to that?"
"There is no other way. I shall suffer more than he."
"But you will deserve to suffer, and your suffering will not help him."
Imogene trembled into her chair again.
"I see," said Mrs. Bowen bitterly, "how it will be at last. It will be as it has been from the first." She began to walk up and down the room, mechanically putting the chairs in place, and removing the disorder in which the occupancy of several people leaves a room at the end of an evening. She closed the piano, which Imogene had forgot to shut, with a clash that jarred the strings from their silence. "But I will do it, and I wonder——"
"You will speak to him?" faltered the girl.