“I have no idea,” he answered.
“Is he going abroad?”
“I know nothing of his plans,” Aynesworth declared. “What answer shall I take back to him?”
She looked at him earnestly. Gradually her face was softening. The frozen look was passing away. The expression was coming back to her eyes. She leaned a little towards him. Her voice, although it was raised above a whisper, was full of feeling.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” she murmured, “I am afraid of Sir Wingrave Seton!”
Aynesworth said nothing.
“I was always a little afraid of him,” she continued, “even in the days when we were friendly. He was so hard and unforgiving. I know he thinks that he has a grievance against me. He will have been brooding about it all these years. I dare not see him! I—I am terrified!”
“If that is your answer,” Aynesworth said, “I will convey it to him!”
Her beautiful eyes were full of reproach.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” she said, in a low tone, “for a young man you are very unsympathetic.”