"People die away from their homes and families every day, every hour," I answered. "It is only morbid to brood over one particular example."
"Father would never forgive me if he knew," she murmured, irrelevantly.
"He hates us to do anything underhand."
I heard Grooton return with a sigh of relief.
"You will have some tea," I suggested.
She shook her head and stood up. I did not press her.
"No, I won't," she said. "I am sorry I came. I don't understand you, Mr. Ducaine. You seem to have changed altogether just these last few weeks. I can see that you are dying to get rid of me now, but you were glad enough to see me, or at any rate you pretended to be, once."
My breath was a little taken away. I looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks were flushed, her voice had shaken with something more like anger than any form of pathos. I was at a loss how to answer her, and while I hesitated the interruption which I had been praying for came, though from a strange quarter. My door was pushed a few inches open, and I heard Lady Angela's clear young voice.
"Are you there, Mr. Ducaine? May I come in?"
Before I could answer she stood upon the threshold, I saw the delightful little smile fade from her lips as she looked in. She hesitated, and seemed for a moment about to retreat.
"Please come in, Lady Angela," I begged, eagerly.