“He was very kind to me then,” she continued, “and you—well, I was frightened of you.” She stopped for a moment and laughed. Her eyes were full of amazed reminiscence. “You were so cold and severe! I never could have dreamed that, after all, it was you who were going to be the dearest, most generous friend I could ever have had! Do you know, Walter—I mean Mr. Aynesworth—isn’t very pleased with me just now?”
“Why not?”
“He cannot understand why I will not tell him my guardian’s name. I think it worries him.”
“You would like to tell him?” Wingrave asked.
She nodded.
“I think so,” she answered.
Wingrave said no more, but after breakfast he went to his study alone. Juliet found him there an hour later, sitting idly in front of his table. His great pile of correspondence was still untouched. She came and sat on the edge of the table.
“What are we going to do this morning, please?” she asked.
Wingrave glanced towards his letters.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that I must spend the day here!”