Without further word she rose, drew on her gloves, placed her warm cape around her shoulders and pulled down her veil. Then she stretched forth her hand.
“You will not remain and dine? Do!” I urged.
“Not to-night,” she answered, in a voice quite different from her usual tone. “I will accept your invitation on another occasion.”
“When shall I see you?” I asked. “May I hope to-morrow?”
“I will call when it is possible,” she replied. “You say you love me. Then promise me one thing.”
“Anything you wish I am ready to grant,” I answered.
“Then do not write to me, or seek me. I will call and see you whenever my time admits.”
“But may I not write?” I asked.
“No,” she answered firmly. “No letters must pass between us.”
I saw that she meant to enforce this condition, therefore did not argue, but reluctantly took leave of her after her refusal to allow me to accompany her back to Hampstead.