He longed to question her, but she held herself so rigidly aloof that he had not the courage to do so. It was in vain that he told himself that her coldness simplified the situation; that it would have been terrible to have had to repel her advances; but he could find no consolation in the thought. In speechless misery he sat gazing into the fire.
Suddenly he thrilled with the consciousness that she was looking at him. He turned towards her and their eyes met.
The glance they exchanged was of the briefest duration, but it sufficed to lift the weight which had been crushing him. He leaned eagerly forward.
"Have I offended you?" he asked.
The corners of her mouth quivered slightly, but she did not answer.
"If I have," he continued, "I assure you it was quite unintentionally. Why, I would give my life to save you a moment's pain. Can't you feel that I am speaking the truth?"
She turned her face towards him, and as he looked at her, Cyril realised that it was not only her manner which had altered; she herself had mysteriously altered. At first he could not define wherein the difference lay, but suddenly it flashed upon him. It was the expression of her eyes which had changed. Heretofore he had been confident that they reflected her every emotion; but now they were inscrutable. It was as if she had drawn a veil over her soul.
"I don't know what you mean," she said. There was more than a hint of hostility in her voice.
The evasion angered him.
"That is impossible! Why not be frank with me? If my visit is distasteful to you, you have only to say so and I will go."