"And it is exactly to these details that you owe my visit," said Lady Alice, with unexpected calmness.
"Then I ought to be grateful them, no doubt."
She moved uneasily, as if the studied conventionality of his tone jarred on her a little; and then she said, with an effort that made her words sound brusque,
"I mean that under ordinary circumstances I should not have come to see you. But these are so strange—so extraordinary—that you will perhaps pardon the intrusion. I felt—on reflection—that it was only right for me to come—to express——"
She faltered, and he took advantage of her hesitation to say, with a quiet smile—
"I am very much obliged to you. But you should not have taken all this trouble. A note would have answered the purpose just as well. I suppose you wish to express your indignation at the little care I seem to have taken of Lesley. You cannot blame me more severely than I blame myself. If she had been under your care I have no doubt we should not be in our present dilemma; but it is no use fretting over what is past—or inevitable. I can only say that I am exceedingly sorry. Will you not loosen your cloak? This room is rather warm. I can't very well ring for tea, I am afraid. You should call on me at Woburn Place, if you want tea."
She loosened her cloak a little at the throat as he suggested. She had taken off her gloves, and he could see that her slender white hands were trembling. Somehow it occurred to him that he had spoken unkindly—but he did not know how or why. His words were commonplace enough. But it was his tone that had been cruel.
"I did not come to make any reproaches or complaints," she said at last, in a low voice.
"No. That was very good of you. I have to thank you, then, for your forbearance."
There was still coldness, still something perilously like scorn, in his tone. It was unbearable to Lady Alice.