Captain Protheroe wheeled round in his chair, and stared thoughtfully at the full-length portrait of an old Winslow knight in armour which confronted him.
"Now what is there in this same old gentleman (for I trust 'twas not my appearance that had such a horrifying effect upon you), what is there here to terrify you?"
"Nothing, sir, I assure you," repeated Barbara faintly.
"Yet there is certainly a strange look about this portrait," he mused. "There is a glint in his eye that mislikes me. One might almost believe," he continued, turning towards her, "that he hid some secret behind that fixed countenance."
Barbara stared at him a moment with terrified face, then she rose abruptly from the table.
"I—I wish you would leave me, sir," she answered curtly.
"That is a hard saying, madame," he exclaimed in mock astonishment. "Did not yourself bid me to supper?"
"Yes. But I am weary of you and now I bid you go."
He laughed quietly.
"That is easily said, madame, but not so easily answered. I may not——"