Yet that's foolish; you are right, that is quite silly. It
isn't our habits that are to blame but our natures--the very
nature of things. I had to engage myself to you before I could know
that I ought to have done nothing of the kind."
She paused, suddenly breathless, and a cough seized her.
"You've taken cold," said Jacks, with graceful solicitude.
"No, no! It's nothing."
Dusk crept about the room. The fire was getting rather low.
"Shall I ring for lamps?" asked Arnold, half rising.
Irene wished to say no, but the proprieties were too strong. She
allowed him to ring the bell, and, without asking leave, he threw
coals upon the fire. For five minutes their dialogue suffered
interruption; when it began again, the curtains were drawn, and warm
rays succeeded to turbid twilight.
"I had better explain to you," said Arnold, in a tone of delicacy
overcome, "this state of mind in which you find yourself. It is
perfectly natural; one has heard of it; one sees the causes of it.
You are about to take the most important step in your whole life,
and, being what you are, a very intelligent and very conscientious
girl, you have thought and thought about its gravity until it
frightens you. That's the simple explanation of your trouble. In a
week--perhaps in a day or two--it will have passed. Just wait.
Don't think of it. Put your marringe--put me--quite out of your
mind.
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