Her voice failed her. He took his hand from her shoulder; and she knew suddenly that, had he chosen, he could have compelled.
"Don't be distressed!" he said. "Whatever it was, it's gone. Sit down, won't you?"
Hope dropped rather limply into a chair. The security of Baring's protecting presence was infinitely comforting, but her fright and subsequent exertion had made her feel very weak. Baring went to the window and stood there for some seconds, with his back to her. She noted his height and breadth of shoulder with a faint sense of pleasure. She had always admired this man. Secretly—his habitual kindness to her notwithstanding—she was also a little afraid of him, but her fear did not trouble her just then.
He turned quietly at length and seated himself near the window.
"How long does your uncle expect to be away?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I never know; he may come back to-morrow, or perhaps not for days."
Baring's black brows drew together.
"Where is he?" he asked. She shook her head again.
He said nothing; but his silence was so condemnatory that she felt herself called upon to defend the absent one.