She again paused for a brief space, and then went on, in a firm, quiet
tone: "There is no use in prolonging this interview; nothing will
alter my decision; we will both follow out the course you have mapped
out. I repeat again, Harold, that if you do not leave the house, as
intended, I certainly shall."

Again, seating herself at the piano, she ran her fingers restlessly
over the keys, as though his presence were trying to her.

He stood by the side of the piano for a space and looked sadly and
absently at her; but her set face gave him no encouragement. With a
troubled air he turned and began to walk slowly and thoughtfully
toward the door--when in deep distress he always grew strangely
absent. When near the door his attention was attracted by a little
book lying on a table. He picked it up, without appearing to be
conscious of doing so, and opened it, but his eyes wandered far away
from the open pages. He raised his hand thoughtfully to his face and
said, ponderingly, to himself, in a low voice: "How--how could I have
made such a mistake--such a frightful mistake? How changed she is,
too!"

She now began to play a low, dreamy air, which stole into his heart
and riveted his laggard feet still more to the room where she was.

As he slowly turned away, she partly turned her head, and with unmoved
face watched his retreating figure. But when she noted his absent
manner, which she recalled so well; saw the pondering look on his face
when he picked up the book, which she knew he was not conscious of
holding; caught the tired droop of his shoulders, and the glint of
early grey hair at his temples, a pathetic expression stole about her