dont think about what ive said tonightand dont chatter about it.you upset me with your fancies.marjory, it means nothing.the last words were imperative in their insistence, but all the answer marjory made was to raise her head and ask, am i to go? while her eyes added, too plainly for maggie dennison not to read them, you know the meaning of that.under the entreaty and the challenge of her eyes, mrs.dennison could not give the answer which it was her purpose to givethe answer which would deny the mad hope that still filled her, the hope which still cried that, though tonight was gone, there was tomorrow.it was the answer she must make to all the worldwhich she must declare and study to confirm in all her acts and bearing.but therealone with the girlunder the compelling influence of the reluctant confidencethat impossibility of open falsehoodwhich the time and occasion seemed strangely to build up between themshe could not give it plainly.she dared not bid the girl stay, with that hope at her heart; she dared not cast away the cloak by bidding her go.you must do as you like, she said at last.i cant help you about it.marjory caught at the narrow chance the answer left her; with returning tenderness she stretched out her hands towards her friend, saying, maggie, do tell me! i shall believe what you tell me.mrs.dennison drew back from the contact of the outstretched hands.marjory rose, and for an instant they stood looking at one another.then marjory turned, and walked slowly to the door.to her own room she went, to fear and to hope, if hope she could.mrs.dennison was left alone.the night was far gone, the morning coming apace.her lips moved, as she gazed from the window.was it in thanksgiving for the escape of the night, or in joy that the morrow was already today? she could not tell; yes, she was gladsurely she was glad? yet, as at last she flung herself upon her bed, she murmured, hell come early today, and then she sobbed in shame.chapter xviii.on the matter of a railway.willie ruston was halfdressed when the chambermaid knocked at his door.he opened it and took from her three or four letters.laying them on the table he finished his dressingwith him a quick process, devoid of the pleasant lounging by which many men cheat its daily tiresomeness.at last, when his coat was on, he walked two or three times up and down the room, frowning, smiling for an instant, frowning long again.then he jerked his head impatiently as though he had had too much of his thoughts, and, going to the table, looked at the addresses on his letters.with a sudden access of eagerness he seized on one and tore it open.it bore carlins handwriting, and he groaned to see that the four sides were closefilled.old carlin was terribly verbose and roundabout in his communications, and a bored look settled on willie rustons face as he read a wilderness of small details, skirmishes with unruly clerks, iniquities of officeboys, lamentations on the apathy of the public, and lastly, a conscientious account of the health of the writers household.with a sigh he turned the second page.by the way, wrote carlin, i have had a letter from detchmore.he draws back about the railway, and says the government wont sanction it.willie ruston raced through the rest, muttering to himself as he read, why the deuce didnt he wire? what an old fool it is! and so forth.then he flung down the letter, put his hands deep in his pockets and stood motionless for a few moments.i must go at once, he said aloud.he stood thinking, and a rare expression stole over his face.it showed a doubt, a hesitation, a falteringthe work and the mark of the day and the night that were gone.he walked about again; he went to the window and stared out, jangling the money in his pockets.for nearly five minutes that expression was on his face.for nearly five minutesand it seemed no short timehe was torn by conflicting forces.for nearly five minutes he wavered in his allegiance, and omofaga had a rival that could dispute its throne.then his brow cleared and his lips shut tight again.he had made up his mind; great as the thing was that held him where he was, yet he must go, and the thing must wait.wheeling round, he took up the letter and, passing quickly through the door, went to young sir walters room, with the face of a man who knows grief and vexation but has set wavering behind him.it was an hour later when adela ferrars and the seminghams sat down to their coffee.a fourth plate was laid at the table, and adela was in very good spirits.tom loring had arrived; they had greeted him, and he was upstairs making himself fit to be seen after a nightvoyage; his boat had lain three hours outside the harbour waiting for the fog to lift