Seeing that there was no escape, she paused now and turned toward me. I have never seen a glance like hers. Say not there is no language of the eyes, no speech in the composure of the features. Yet such is the Sphinx power given to woman, that now I saw, as though it were a thing tangible, a veil drawn across her eyes, across her face, between her soul and mine. Elisabeth drew herself up straight, her chin high, her eyes level, her lips just parted for a faint salutation in the conventions of the morning. "How do you do?" she remarked. Her voice was all cool white enamel. Then that veil dropped down between us. She was there somewhere, but I could not see her clearly now. It was not her voice. I took her hand, yes; but it had now none of answering clasp. The flush was on her cheek no more. Cool, pale, sweet, all white now, armed cap-a-pie with indifference, she looked at me as formally as though I were a remote acquaintance. Then she would have passed. "Elisabeth," I began; "I am just back. I have not had time--I have had no leave from you to come to see you--to ask you--to explain--" "Explain?" she said evenly. "But surely you can not believe that I--" "I only believe what seems credible, Mr. Trist." "But you promised--that very morning you agreed--Were you out of your mind, that--" "I was out of my mind that morning--but not that evening." Now she was _grande demoiselle_, patrician, superior. Suddenly I became conscious of the dullness of my own garb. I cast a quick glance over my figure, to see whether it had not shrunken. "But that is not it, Elisabeth--a girl may not allow a man so much as you promised me, and then forget that promise in a day. It _was_ a promise between us. _You_ agreed that I should come; I did come. You had given your word. I say, was that the way to treat me, coming as I did?" "I found it possible," said she. "But, if you please, I must go. I beg your pardon, but my Aunt Betty is waiting with the carriage." "Why, damn Aunt Betty!" I exclaimed. "You shall not go! See, look here!" I pulled from my pocket the little ring which I had had with me that night when I drove out to Elmhurst in my carriage, the one with the single gem which I had obtained hurriedly that afternoon, having never before that day had the right to do so. In another pocket I found the plain gold one which should have gone with the gem ring that same evening. My hand trembled as I held these out to her. "I prove to you what I meant. Here! I had no time! Why, Elisabeth, I was hurrying--I was mad!--I had a right to offer you these things. I have still the right to ask you why you did not take them? Will you not take them now?" She put my hand away from her gently. "Keep them," she said, "for the owner of that other wedding gift--the one which I received."