“Come in!”
She pushed the door open at that and entered, and saw Jack, and he saw her. He turned very pale at the sight, and then the color flooded his face, and he rose from his chair abruptly, and put his hand up to the strips that held the bandage on his head.
“Burnett isn’t here,” he said quickly. “He went out just a few minutes ago.”
His tone was hard, and yet at the same time it shook slightly.
She approached him, holding out her hand.
“I’m glad of that,” she said, “because it was to see you that I came.”
To her great surprise something mutinous and scornful flashed in his eyes as he rolled a chair forward for her.
“You honor me,” he said, and his tone and manner both hardened yet more. His general appearance was that of a man ten years older; he had changed terribly in the weeks since she had last seen him. She took the chair and sat down, still looking at him. He sat down too, and his eyes went restlessly around the room as if they sought a hold that should withhold them from her searching gaze. There was a short pause.
“Don’t speak like that,” she said at last. “It isn’t your way, and I know you too well—we know one another too well—to be anything but sincere. You owe me something, too, and if I forbear you should understand why.”
“I owe you something, do I?” he asked. “What do I owe you?”