She moved to the door before making any response. With her hand on the knob she turned and faced him again.
"God aid you," she whispered, and was gone.
CHAPTER VIII
THE CORONER'S COUP
Possibly ten minutes elapsed before Miss Westbrook entered the room; had she been a witness of her mother's departure, she would have known that Mr. Converse had not stirred during that time. His attention was evidently drawn forcibly back from distant spaces and fixed upon her with an effort. In seeking this meeting she had prepared for an ordeal, but now she became sensible of the fact that other concerns besides her own might occupy his mind, and that those unwavering, piercing eyes, the scrutiny of which was so disconcerting, were able to look at and through her without being aware of her presence. She was reluctant to break in upon a concentration which so candidly ignored her.
Her appearance was unaltered from what it had presented that morning, save, perhaps, for a faint tinge of color in the pale cheeks and the added light of some purpose in the depths of her violet eyes. Notwithstanding the high spirit revealed in the unconscious flash of her glance, she was, after all, very slight, very fragile, and very feminine; and she was soon to have dire need of all the support that could be rendered her.
Quite suddenly she became aware of recognition in his regard. She moved impulsively toward him, her hand for a moment tentatively outstretched; as she spoke, her color deepened.
"Mr. Converse," she began with shy hesitancy, "I—I have come here to beg your forgiveness." Her voice was low and soft, her manner winning.
"Well, Miss Westbrook," he retorted, a note of raillery in his speech, designed to place her completely at her ease, "I am a sorely wronged person; however, I am not—" But, still impulsively, she interrupted him.
"Mr. Converse, I was unpardonably rude this morning; I must have appeared wretchedly mean and ill-bred; but you have no idea what doubts and anxieties—" But now he stopped her.