“Sir Wingrave!”
He checked her. There was not a tremor in his tone. The gesture with which he had repelled her was stiff and emotionless.
“I went into prison one man, I came out another. While I live, I shall never be able to think kindly again of a single one of my fellow creatures. It was not my fault. So far as our affections are concerned, we are machines, all of us. Well, my mainspring has broken.”
“I don’t believe it,” she declared.
“It is, nevertheless, true,” he affirmed calmly. “I am living in exile because I have no friends, because friends have become an impossibility to me. I shall not tell you any more of my life because you are young and you would not believe me if I did. Some day,” he added grimly, “you will probably hear for yourself.”
“I shall never believe anything,” she declared, “which I do not choose to believe. I shall never believe, for instance, that you are quite what you think yourself.”
“We will talk of other things,” he said. “Five years ago, you showed Aynesworth where the seagulls built.”
“And now I will show you,” she exclaimed, “if you are sure that your head is steady enough. Come along!”...
It was after dinner that she took him into the picture gallery. Miss Harrison, very much disturbed by the presence of the master of Tredowen, and still more so by the hint which she had already received as to coming changes, followed them at a little distance.
“I am so sorry,” Juliet said, “that we have no cigars or cigarettes.”