“It’s very sweet of you to trust me like this,” he said. “Jarvis will bring you something to eat, then I’ll take you round to your aunt’s. Where is it she lives—somewhere in Kensington, isn’t it? Tomorrow we must talk things over.”
She threw herself back once more in the easy-chair and glanced around her.
“I should like,” she decided, “to talk them over now.”
He glanced towards the door.
“Just as you please,” he said, “only Jarvis will be in with your sandwiches directly.”
She brushed aside his protest.
“I was obliged,” she continued, “to say that I was engaged to you, to save you from something—I don’t know what. The more I have thought about it, the more terrible it has all seemed. I am not going to even ask you for any explanation. I—I daren’t.”
Granet looked at his cigarette for a moment thoughtfully. Then he threw it into the fire.
“Perhaps you are wise,” he said coolly. “All the same, when the time comes there is an explanation.”
“It is the present which has become such a problem,” she went on. “I was driven to leave home and I don’t think I can go back again. Father is simply furious with me, and every one about the place seems to have an idea that I am somehow to blame for what happened the other night.”