Bunny was restless and querulous throughout the night. He was deeply hurt by Jake's desertion, and, though he forebore to say so, he plainly regarded his sister as a very poor substitute.
"I shan't get up till Jake comes to see me," he announced in the morning.
And Maud went down to fetch his breakfast with a reluctant promise to inform Jake of this intention if she saw him.
She hoped very earnestly that she would not see him, but her hope was not to be fulfilled. Coming from the kitchen with Bunny's breakfast-tray, she almost ran into him. He had evidently just entered the house, and was hanging up his cap on the rack that stood in the darkest corner of the passage.
He stood back for her to pass him. "Good morning!" he said.
Her face was burning. So great was her agitation for the moment that she thought she must drop the tray she held.
Jake evidently thought so too, for he reached out and steadily took it from her. "I'll take up this," he said. "I want to see the little chap. Do you mind going into the parlour? I shall be down directly."
He spoke in his customary slightly sing-song drawl. She longed to refuse, but could not. With an inarticulate murmur she turned aside.
In the parlour the fire burned brightly. She went and stood before it, striving desperately for composure. She would have given all she had to escape the coming interview. But she knew she could not, knew she must face it, listen to semi-humorous excuses, possibly a good-natured apology for an offence which she regarded as inexcusable, hideous.
With all her strength she fought for self-control. She must make it clear to him, must somehow make him understand that this thing had raised up a barrier between them that could never be broken down, an immovable obstacle to all intimacy, a perpetual stumbling-block to friendship. He had brought it on himself and never--never--never could it now be otherwise. They had never been very near, but now they were as far asunder as the poles. No kindness from him could ever make her forget.