He had not even shaken hands with her, and she felt strangely uncertain of herself. She was even conscious of a childish desire to run away.
He took her at her word at once. "Thank you," he said. "Now, do you remember a certain conversation that took place between us six months ago?"
"I remember," she said.
An odd sense of powerlessness had taken possession of her, and she knew it had become visible to him, for she saw his face alter.
"I know I'm ugly," he said, abruptly; "but I'm not frowning, believe me."
She understood the allusion and laughed rather faintly. "I'm not afraid of you, Lord Wyverton," she said.
He smiled at her. "Thank you," he said. "That's kind. I'm coming to the point. There are just two questions I have to ask you, and I've done. First, have they told you that I'm a ruined man?"
Molly's face became troubled. "Yes," she said. "Lady Caryl told me. I was very sorry—for you."
She uttered the last two words with a conscious effort. He was mastering her in some subtle fashion, drawing her by some means irresistible. She felt almost as if some occult force were at work upon her. He did not thank her for her sympathy. Without comment he passed on to his second question.
"And are you still disposed to be generous?" he asked her, with a directness that surpassed her own. "Is your offer—that splendid offer of yours—still open? Or have you changed your mind? You mustn't pity me overmuch. I have enough to live on—enough for two"—he smiled again that pleasant, sudden smile of his—"if you will do the cooking and polish the front-door knob."