She answered him with an effort. “I had to get away.”
“Ah!” he said. “It wasn’t on my account then? You weren’t coming to meet me after all—in spite of my message? Did you get my message?”
She bent her head. “Yes. I had your message. Ruth told me. I was coming—I was coming—to meet you.”
“Yes?” he said. “Why were you so late?”
She hesitated. She could not tell him of that awful interview in the farm-kitchen. She could not bring herself so much as to mention Arthur’s name.
“I was coming to meet you,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to be late. But they are a strange family. I didn’t want them to know.”
“A very strange family!” said Rotherby. “Why should they know? Your affairs are your own.”
“Yes. But they have been very kind to me. They might think they had a right——”
“A right to shoot anyone from outside who wanted to speak to you?” he said.
“Oh, no—no!” she protested, feeling the hot colour rise overwhelmingly under his look. “That was a piece of madness.”