Was she, on her side, afraid to trust herself to speak of George at a time when an unusual tenderness was aroused in her by the near prospect of saying farewell?
It might be--it might not be--it might be.

My feeble reason took the side of my inclination; and, after vibrating between Yes and No, I stopped where I had begun--at Yes.
She finished the letter in a few minutes, and dropped it into the post-bag the moment it was done.
"Not a word more," she said, returning to me with a sigh of relief--"not a word about my aunt or my going away till the time comes.

We have two more days; let us make the most of them." Two more days! Eight-and-forty hours still to pass; sixty minutes in each of those hours; and every minute long enough to bring with it an event fatal to George's future! The bare thought kept my mind in a fever.

For the remainder of the day I was as desultory and as restless as our Queen of Hearts herself.

Owen affectionately did his best to quiet me, but in vain.