"Scott, Eustace wants me to go for an all-day picnic alone with him to-morrow. I—don't want to go."
He was still looking at her with that straight, almost stern regard. An odd little quiver went through her as she met it. She felt as if she were in a fashion on her trial.
"Why don't you want to go?" he asked.
She hesitated. "I was to have gone up to town with Isabel to shop," she said.
"No, that isn't the reason," he said. "Tell me the reason!"
She made a quick gesture of appeal. "I—wish you wouldn't ask," she faltered, and suddenly she could meet his eyes no longer. She lowered her own, and sat before him in burning confusion.
"Have you asked yourself?" he said, his voice very low.
She was silent; the quiet question seemed to probe her through and through. There was no evading it.
Scott was still watching her very closely, very intently. He spoke at length, just as she was beginning to feel his scrutiny to be more than she could bear.
"If you are just shy with him—as I think you are—I think you ought to try and get over it, as much for his sake as for your own. You don't want to hurt him, do you? You wouldn't like him to be disappointed?"