‘Yes,’ says she slowly, her eye sinking to the ground. That last dreadful scene, in which he had played so conspicuous a part, and when in the sullenness of her despair she had welcomed death, lies once again clear as a picture to her eyes. She shudders, and a faint moisture breaks out upon her forehead.
‘I am glad to see you quite recovered,’ says he in a tone which belies his words. ‘If you will be so good as to come indoors, I should like to speak to you for a few minutes about your future.’
His tone is so curt, so positively unpleasant, that the girl, colouring deeply and without another word, moves towards the hall-door of the charming cottage, and leads the way through the porch—so exquisitely festooned with delicate greeneries—into the long many-windowed room beyond. This room runs the entire length of the house, and overlooks the garden. As she goes a deep melancholy falls upon her. What has he come to say? Why is his manner so unkind? That night—that awful night—he had seemed to befriend her—to take her part—and now——
‘You are of course aware,’ says Wyndham formally, when they have reached the drawing-room—the drawing-room that used to be his, but that now seems to slip out of his possession, as he sees the slender figure of the girl turn after his entrance, as if to receive him. ‘You are of course aware that the late Professor, Mr. Hennessy, left you three hundred a year?’
The girl, standing midway between one of the windows and Wyndham, makes a slight affirmative movement of her head. She would have spoken, but words failed her.
‘That was in accordance with his promise to you. If the experiment failed, well’—with a careless shrug—‘there was nothing. If it was successful—you were to be the gainer by it.’
His voice is clear, unemotional; there is a sort of ‘laying down the law’ about it that takes every spark of sympathy that there might have been quite out of it.
‘Yes.’ This time she manages to speak, but she colours as she speaks, and blushes very painfully; and now her eyes seek the ground. If one were to exactly describe her, one would say—but very reluctantly, I think—that she looks ashamed.
‘With three hundred a year you should be able to——’
She interrupts him.