She did not know how to meet him or what to say, but it was useless to shirk the interview. She entered her drawing-room with decidedly heightened colour, even while telling herself that it was absurd to feel any embarrassment in his presence.
He was waiting for her on his favourite perch, the music-stool, swinging idly to and fro, with his customary serenity of demeanour. He moved to meet her with a quiet smile of welcome. A piece of strapping-plaster across his left temple was all that remained of his recent disfigurement.
"I hope my visit is not premature," he remarked as he shook hands.
"Oh, no!" she answered somewhat nervously. "I expected you. Please sit down."
He subsided again upon the music-stool, and there followed a silence which she found peculiarly disconcerting.
"You have been thinking over my suggestion?" he drawled at length.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, I have." She paused a moment, then, "I—am afraid it wouldn't answer," she said, with an effort, "though I am very grateful to you for thinking of it. You see, there are so many obstacles."
"But not insurmountable, any of them," smiled Lord Ronald.
"I am afraid so," she said.
He looked at her.