Christine raised her head and shook it.
"I can't go," she said.
"Why not? You're infernally odd about it! Why can't you go? Is it anything about Caylesham in particular?"
"No, no, nothing—nothing like that; but I—I hate to go."
"You must do it for me. I don't understand why you hate it so much as all that."
He was regarding her with an air at once angry and inquisitive. She dared hide her face no longer. She had to look at him calmly and steadily—with distress perhaps, but at all costs without fear or confusion.
"My good name depends on it, and all we have in the world; and—by God, yes!—my life too, if you like!" he exclaimed in rising passion. "You shall go! No, no! I don't mean that—I don't want to be rough! But, for heaven's sake—if you've ever cared about me, old woman—for heaven's sake, go!"
She hesitated still, and at this his passing touch of tenderness vanished; but it had moved her, and it worked with the fear that was on her.
"If you've a special reason, tell it me," he urged impatiently: "a special reason against asking Caylesham; somebody we must ask."
"I have no special reason against asking Lord Caylesham," she answered steadily.