She had no pleasure in these incredible compliments from Richard the difficult to please in chemistry. It was too disquieting to have him thus watchful and interested.
"Let's start at once," he proposed.
"Oh, I couldn't do that. I hesitate to leave here—when everything's at its best. In the fall—or next winter——"
"I see you don't want to go—with me."
His tone compelled her to look at him. His eyes—grave, searching—were fixed upon her. Instinct suddenly warned her of danger—what danger or where she could not see, but the warning was imperative. "Indeed I do," protested she, with a deceptive show of interest, though her skin burned as her fundamental and incurable honesty cried shame upon her—as it always did when she, compelled by her circumstances, could not avoid the lie direct. "But," she went on, "you can't expect a woman, with a household like this on her mind, to drop everything and fly at a few hours' notice."
He reflected, nodded. "That's true. Though, really, the servants are so experienced they'd go on just as well. My dear old aunt was thorough."
There was a little bitterness of hurt vanity in her smile of recognition at this ancient notion of Richard's about her part in that household. She felt that the tête-à-tête had already lasted too long. "Was Winchie in there?" she asked.
"I didn't see him," replied Dick.
She moved toward the nearest sitting-room window.
"What's the matter?" he cried, irritated. "Where are you going?"