"
"Sir Francis--that gave you the fifty pound. How about him?"
Deleah's eyes, staring into his, dilated, her face grew whiter than his
own. "I don't know what you can mean," she said. "Sir Francis Forcus and
me? Me! _Me!_ Deleah Day!" She whispered the words in a kind of awe.
Almost there seemed sacrilege in them.
"Why not? Why not?"
"I think you must be mad, Mr. Gibbon."
"I am. I often am. Quite mad. Mad with love of you."
"Oh!"
"Why do you sigh like that?"
"I so much wish you wouldn't."
"Wouldn't what?"
"Be so ridiculous."
"Is that all you have to say to me?"
"That--and good-night."
"I did not think you could be so cruel."
"I am not cruel," Deleah said; and then, quite unexpected by her, a sob
rose in her throat, and it was all that she could do to keep the tears of
self-pity back. "I am not cruel, but you so torment me. I want to be kind
to you, but I do not want to hear about all this--which sounds so
ridiculous to me. You are older than I am--you should know better. You
should know how silly it is to talk to a girl like me such nonsense. And I
want to go to bed, Mr. Gibbon. Will you please stand away and let me go to
bed?"
He put his hand on the door-knob as if to open it for her, but held it
there.
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