“No,” said Dacier. “I’m not going away. They’re waiting for you in the church. What do you want me to tell them?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“That’s not very polite.”
“Polite!” she cried. “Do you want to make one of your schoolboy jokes about—this? Go away! I won’t listen to you! I can’t bear to see you!”
“You’ve got to face this,” said Dacier firmly. “There’s no use flying at me. Perhaps I can help you.”
“I don’t want any help—from any one.”
“Where’s Mallet?”
It was a blunt enough question, but the shock of it steadied her. She turned away her head for a minute, and then faced him with something of her old composure.
“The—a boy came with a note,” she said evenly. “Mr. Mallet has been called away on business. The wedding will have to be postponed.”
Dacier came a little nearer, and looked at her with eyes as steady as her own.