When Traill saw that expression of her face, he dropped the note of brass from his voice.
"Why?" he asked again, almost gently.
Her lips bound tight together as though she were keeping back her confession; her nostrils dilated, checking tears.
"I wanted to see you—that's all."
She said it with a shrug of the shoulders—the motion with which you shake an unwelcome thought from your mind.
He pressed her further. "But you apparently knew I was bringing some one?" he said.
She still looked towards her invisible horizon. "I guessed that—guessed that from your letter—the way you said you wanted to find no one down here. I thought you wouldn't mind my coming—besides—there was no one to order anything for you, and then—as I said—I wanted to see you."
"Yes, but why?" He took her arm, held the elbow in the cup of his hand.
She looked once more—looked long into her distance—then turned, petulantly almost, with a smothered sigh to the fireplace, rested her feet upon the fender, and redirected her gaze into the heart of the fire.
"Oh, it's no good talking about it now," she said. "Miss Bishop '11 be down in a minute."