"I was back here just thirty days after I had gone away."
"And here you have remained ever since?"
"Oh, yes!" she said gently.
"When are you going to Europe again?"
This question seemed brutal; but there was something that irritated me in the softness of her resignation, and I wished to extort from her some expression of impatience.
She fixed her eyes for a moment upon a small sunspot on the carpet; then she got up and lowered the window-blind a little, to obliterate it. Presently, in the same mild voice, answering my question, she said, "Never!"
"I hope your cousin repaid you your money."
"I don't care for it now," she said, looking away from me.
"You don't care for your money?"
"For going to Europe."
"Do you mean that you would not go if you could?"
"I can't—I can't," said Caroline Spencer. "It is all over; I never think of it."
"He never repaid you, then!" I exclaimed.
"Please—please," she began.
But she stopped; she was looking toward the door. There had been a rustling and a sound of steps in the hall.
I also looked toward the door, which was open, and now admitted another person, a lady, who paused
