Aynesworth looked at her in some surprise.
“It is odd that you should have recognized him from up here,” he remarked thoughtfully. “He has changed so much during the last few years.”
Juliet smiled, but she did not explain. She felt that she was obeying Wingrave’s wishes.
“I should have recognized him anywhere,” she answered simply. “I wonder what they are talking about. She seems so interested, and he looks so bored.”
Aynesworth looked at his watch. It was barely ten o’clock.
“I am very glad to see him here this evening,” he remarked.
“I should like so much,” she said, still gazing at them earnestly, “to know that they are talking about.”
. . . . . . . . . . .
“So you will not tell me,” the Marchioness murmured, ceasing for a moment the graceful movements of her fan, and looking at him steadily. “You refuse me this—almost the first thing I have ever asked you?”
“It is scarcely,” Wingrave objected, “a reasonable question.”