"No, I am afraid I don't."
There was a pause. The garden door was closed behind them. They stood alone.
Lucas Errol's eyes travelled over the stretch of lawn that lay between them and the house, dwelt for a few thoughtful seconds upon nothing in particular, and finally sought those of the girl at his side.
"One must be fair, Miss Waring," he said gently. "I can't imagine you being deliberately unfair to anyone."
She flushed again. There was something in his manner that she could not quite fathom, but it was something that she could not possibly resent.
"Not deliberately—of course," she said after a moment, as he waited for an answer.
"Of course not," he agreed, in his courteous, rather tired voice. "If, for instance, you were out with a friend and met a scorpion in a rage who stung you both, you'd want to take it out of the scorpion, wouldn't you, not the friend?"
She hesitated, seeing in a flash the trend of the conversation, and unwilling to commit herself too deeply.
He read her reluctance at a glance. "Please don't be afraid of me," he said, with that most winning smile of his. "I promise you on my honour that whatever you say shall not be used against you."
She smiled involuntarily. "I am not afraid of you, only—"