"And you?"
"It is uncertain. I think Lucy will want me for the photography."
"Miss Lorimer, first of all you must do something to get well. You will break down altogether if you don't."
Something in the tone of the blunt words startled her; she turned away, a nameless terror taking possession of her.
"Oh, I shall be all right after a little holiday."
"You have been looking after everybody else; doing everybody's work, bearing everybody's troubles." He stopped short suddenly, and added, with less earnestness, "Quis custodet custodiem? Do you know any Latin, Miss Lorimer?"
She rose involuntarily; then stood rather helplessly before him. It was ridiculous that these two clever people should be so shy and awkward; those others down below in the studio had never undergone any such uncomfortable experience; but then neither had had to graft the new happiness on an old sorrow; for neither had the shadow of memory darkened hope.
Gertrude went over to the mantelshelf, and began mechanically arranging some flowers in a vase. For once, she found Lord Watergate's presence disturbing and distressing; she was confused, unhappy, distrustful of herself; she wished when she turned her head that she would find him gone. But he was standing near her, a look of perplexity, of trouble, in his face.
"Miss Lorimer," he said, and there was no mistaking the note in his voice, "have I come too soon? Is it too soon for me to speak?"
She was overwhelmed, astonished, infinitely agitated. Her soul shrank back afraid. What had the closer human relations ever brought her but sorrow unutterable, unending? Some blind instinct within her prompted her words, as she said, lifting her head, with the attitude of one who would avert an impending blow—