She has hardly time to reach this seclusion when the door is thrown wide, and Sir Maurice is announced.
"Nobody with you?" says he, glancing somewhat expectantly around him. "I fancied I heard someone. So glad to find you alone!"
"Yes—yes—perhaps it is better," says Margaret vaguely, absently, thinking always of the little firebrand in that room beyond, but so near, so fatally near.
"Better? You mean——"
"Well, I mean that Tita has only just left the room," says Margaret desperately.
"She—is in there, then?" pointing towards the folding-doors.
"Yes. Do speak low. You know she—I can't disguise from you,
Maurice, that she——"
Margaret hesitates.
"Hates me? I'm quite aware of that." A long pause. "She is well, I hope?" frigidly.
"I think so. She looks well, lovely indeed—a little pale, perhaps. Maurice," leaning across and whispering cautiously, "why don't you try to make a reconciliation of some sort? A beginning might lead to the happiest results, and I am sure you do care for her—and—do try and make up with her."