"Yes. I hoped you would excuse me. I have a little headache."
"Oh, I'm sorry!"
He was perfectly suave. He looked at her with a good-natured
anxiety. Irene tried to smile.
"You won't mind if I leave all that to you? Your judgment is quite
enough. If you really like the house, take it at once. I shall be
delighted."
"It's rather a responsibility, you know. Suppose we wait till
to-morrow?"
Irene's nerves could not endure an argument. She gave a strange
laugh, and exclaimed:
"Are you afraid of responsibilities? In this case, you must really
face it. Screw up your courage."
Decidedly, Arnold was not himself. He liked an engagement of banter;
it amused him to call out Irene's spirit, and to conquer in the end
by masculine force in guise of affectionate tolerance. To-day he
seemed dull, matter-of-fact, inclined to vexation; when not
speaking, he had a slightly absent air, as if ruminating an
unpleasant thought.
"Of course I will do as you wish, Irene. Just let me describe the
house----"
She could have screamed with irritation.
"Arnold, I entreat you! The house is nothing to me. I mean, one will
do as well as another, if _you_ are satisfied."
"So be it. I will never touch on the subject again."
His tone was decisive. Irene knew that he would literally keep his
word. This was the side of his character which she liked, which had
always impressed her; and for the moment her nerves were soothed.
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