He looked as if he had never seen her before, but after a moment’s pause he said:
“Yes. Will you come this way?” And led her through the outer vestibule into the wide and gloomy hall.
There he left her, and went in the direction of the Master’s study, but soon returned.
The afternoon had quite faded now, and as he conducted her along the western corridor he turned on the lights.
Mr. Barringcourt received her almost silently. He made some remark about the weather—it was of little importance. He drew a chair for her. Rosalie sat down.
“I came to see you,” she began, clasping her hands tightly inside her muff, “because—because—”
“Because,” said he, in the most distant of voices, “you wished to see Mariana.”
“No. I’m afraid I was too selfish to think of Mariana. I was thinking only of myself.”
She did not notice the alteration in his expression, because she had not noticed the previous hardness of his voice. But she got a vague idea he was not particularly pleased to see her, yet was determined to go on.
“It has sometimes struck me,” she began hurriedly, “that it was very ill-mannered of me to run away from you. I—I—I escaped by a little door in the stable wall.”