Aynesworth held the girl’s hands for a moment, but his manner was sufficient evidence of the spirit in which he had come. He drew a little breath, and he looked from one to the other anxiously.
“Is this—your mysterious guardian, Juliet?” he asked hoarsely.
She glanced at Wingrave questioningly. His expression was ominous, and the light faded from her own face. While she hesitated, Wingrave spoke.
“I imagine,” he said, “that the fact is fairly obvious. What have you to say about it?”
“A good deal,” Aynesworth answered passionately. “Juliet, please go away. I must speak to your guardian—alone!”
Again she looked at Wingrave. He pointed to the house.
“I think,” he said, “that you had better go.”
She hesitated. Something of the impending storm was already manifest. Aynesworth turned suddenly towards her.
“You shall not enter that house again, Juliet,” he declared. “Stay in the gardens there, and presently you shall know why.”