He looked for a different reply.
"I have said it," was his cold answer.
"Well." She said no more, but looked down and sat thinking for the space of more than a minute.
"I will go back to Ivy Cliff." She looked up, with something strange in the expression of her face.

It was a blank, unfeeling, almost unmeaning expression.
"Well." It was Emerson's only response.
"Well; and that is all ?" Her tones were so chilling that they came over the spirit of her husband like the low waves of an icy wind.
"No, that is not all." What evil spirit was blinding his perceptions?
What evil influence pressing him on to the brink of ruin?
"Say on." How strangely cold and calm she remained! "Say on," she repeated.

Was there none to warn him of danger?
"If you go a third time to your father--" He paused.
"Well ?" There was not a quiver in her low, clear, icy tone.
"You must do it with your eyes open, and in full view of the consequences." "What are the consequences ?" Beware, rash man! Put a seal on your lips! Do not let the thought so sternly held find even a shadow of utterance! "Speak, Hartley Emerson.

What are the consequences ?" "You cannot return!" It was said without a quiver of feeling.
"Well." She looked at him with an unchanged countenance, steadily, coldly, piercingly.
"I have said the words, Irene; and they are no idle utterances.
Twice you have left me, but you cannot do it a third time and leave a way open between us.

Go, then, if you will; but, if we part here, it must be for ever!" The eyes of Irene dropped slowly.