“They can’t sell any more of my pictures,” she said. “I am trying to get a situation as governess or companion or—anything.”
“When did you have anything to eat last?” he asked.
“Yesterday,” she answered, and he was just in time to catch her. She had fainted.
He laid her upon the sofa, poured some water over her face, and fanned her with a newspaper. His expression of cold indifference remained unmoved. It was there in his face when she opened her eyes.
“Are you well enough to walk?” he asked.
“Quite, thank you,” she answered. “I am so sorry!”
“Put on your hat,” he ordered.
She disappeared for a few minutes, and returned dressed for the street. He drove her to a restaurant and ordered some dinner. He made her drink some wine, and while they waited he buried himself in a newspaper. They ate their meal almost in silence. Afterwards, Wingrave asked her a question.
“Where is Aynesworth?”
“Looking for work, I think,” she answered.