Wingrave remained quite calm, but there was a terrible light in his eyes.
“Now, for the first time, Aynesworth,” he said, “I am glad that you are here. We are going to have a complete understanding before you leave this room. Juliet Lundy, as my ward, was, I believe, contented and happy. It suited you to disturb our relations, and your excuse for doing so was that you loved her. You took her away from me, and now you say that you do not intend to marry her. Be so good as to tell me what the devil you do mean!”
Aynesworth laughed a little bitterly.
“You must excuse me,” he said, “but a sense of humor was always my undoing, and this reversal of our positions is a little odd, isn’t it? I am not going to marry Juliet Lundy because she happens not to care for me in that way at all. My appearance is scarcely that of a joyous lover, is it?”
Wingrave eyed him more closely. Aynesworth had certainly fallen away from the trim and carefully turned out young man of a few months back. He was paler, too, and looked older.
“I do not understand this,” Wingrave said.
“I do!” Aynesworth answered bitterly. “There is someone else?”
“Someone whom I do not know about?” Wingrave said, frowning heavily. “Who is he, Aynesworth?”
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders. He said nothing. Wingrave came a step nearer to him.
“You may as well tell me.” he said quietly, “for I shall postpone my journey until I know the whole truth.”