He went toward her, and for a moment she seemed to make another slight movement of retreat. This however was scarcely perceptible, and there was nothing to alarm in the tone of reasonable entreaty in which Nick said to her as he went toward her: "Put an end, Julia, to our absurd situation—it really can't go on: you have no right to expect a man to be happy or comfortable in so false a position. We're talked of odiously—of that we may be sure; and yet what good have we of it?"
"Talked of? Do I care for that?"
"Do you mean you're indifferent because there are no grounds? That's just why I hate it."
"I don't know what you're talking about," exclaimed Mrs. Dallow, with quick disdain.
"Be my wife to-morrow—be my wife next week. Let us have done with this fantastic probation and be happy."
"Leave me now—come back to-morrow. I'll write to you." She had the air of pleading with him at present as he pleaded with her.
"You can't resign yourself to the idea of one's looking 'out of it'!" laughed Nick.
"Come to-morrow, before lunch," Mrs. Dallow continued.
"To be told I must wait six months more and then be sent about my business" Ah, Julia, Julia!" murmured the young man.
Something in this simple exclamation—it sounded natural and perfectly unstudied—evidently on the instant made a great impression on his companion. "You shall wait no longer," she said after a short silence.
