“It was not my fault you were sent for,” he said. “It was done against my wish—without my knowledge.”
The words were curt, emotionless. Why did she feel as though she were in the presence of a sorely-wounded animal?
“Don’t go!” she said again, and somehow the words seemed to utter themselves; she was not conscious of any effort of her own by which they were spoken. “There is no need for you to go.”
“No need!” He still stood with his back to her. His hand was on the door, but he did not go. “Did you say that?” he said, after a moment.
“Yes.” She came forward slowly, and still it did not seem to be of her own volition that she moved or spoke. “I haven’t come back to make trouble—only to try and help—if I can.”
“Yes. I understand,” he said, and his voice came half-strangled, as though he fought some obstruction in his throat. “Square told me.”
She stopped at the table. “Have you been having tea? I thought Maggie was here.”
“She has gone out with Elsie. Milly went upstairs to Dolly. I don’t know where the others are.”
Again curiously something in his voice pierced her. It had a deadened quality—was it utter weariness—or smothered pain?
“Have you had tea?” she asked.