He was filled with shame and self-reproach, and turned away his head that she might not see the shame in his eyes.
"How did you come?" she asked, presently. "If my father were only at home! You could stay with us, then."
"I am staying at The Woodman," he said.
She regarded him with some surprise.
"Last night! Late, do you mean? Did you meet, see anyone?"
There was a dawning suspicion in her eyes, and she regarded his averted face keenly; she noticed that he hesitated and seemed embarrassed.
"No one you know," he replied, feeling that it was impossible for him to speak Ida's name.
"How do you know?" she asked, with a curious smile. "Who was it?"
"I met Miss Heron of Herondale," he said, trying to speak casually, and wondering what she would say, hoping fervently that she would ask no more questions.
The blood rushed to her face, her eyes flashed and her lips tightened; but she did not speak, and moved away to the window, standing there looking out, but seeing nothing. He had gone to her the moment he had returned: what did it mean? But she dared not ask; for she knew instinctively how slight was the chain by which she held him. With an effort she restrained the rage, the fierce jealousy, which threatened to burst forth in violent reproaches and accusation; and after a minute or two she turned to him, outwardly calm and smiling.