He saw from her pale, drawn face that she was desperate. He grew afraid.
"But, my dear girl, think—of what you are saying! You don't mean it; you can't mean it. Your father has relented, and will welcome you back, if only you will consent to return."
"I have no wish to be regarded as the prodigal daughter," was her proud response.
"Not for Walter Murie's sake?" asked the crafty man. "I have seen him. I was at the club with him last night, and we had a chat about you. He loves you very dearly. Ah! you do not know how he is suffering."
She was silent, and he recognised in an instant that his words had touched the sympathetic chord in her heart.
"He is not suffering any greater grief than I am," she said in a low, mechanical voice, her brow heavily clouded.
"Of course I can quite understand that," he remarked sympathetically. "Walter is a good fellow, and—well, it is indeed sad that matters should be as they are. He is entirely devoted to you, Gabrielle."
"Not more so than I am to him," declared the girl quite frankly.
"Then why did you write breaking off your engagement?"
"He told you that?" she exclaimed in surprise.