"Say good by to them then, Roger. If this is wrong, I am all wrong!" She spoke with a proud decision, which was very becoming; she had never yet come so near being beautiful. In the midst of his passionate vexation Roger admired her. The scene seemed for a moment a bad dream, from which, with a start, he might wake up to tell her he loved her.
"Your anger gives an admirable point to your remarks. Indeed, it gives a beauty to your face. Must a young lady be in the wrong to be attractive?" he went on, hardly knowing what he said. But a burning blush in her cheeks recalled him to a kind of self-abhorrence. "Would to God," he cried, "your abominable cousin had never come between us!"
"Between us? He is not between us. I stand as near you, Roger, as I ever did. Of course George will go away immediately."
"Of course! I am not so sure. He will, I suppose, if he is asked."
"Of course I shall ask him."
"Nonsense. You will not enjoy that."
"We are old friends by this time," said Nora, with terrible irony. "I shall not in the least mind."
Roger could have choked himself. He had brought his case to this: Fenton a martyred prescript, and Nora a brooding victim of duty. "Do I want to turn the man out of the house?" he cried. "Do me a favor—I insist upon it. Say nothing to him, let him stay as long as he chooses. I am not afraid! I don't trust him, but I trust you. I am curious to see how long he will have the impudence to stay. A fortnight hence I shall
