Guy frowned. "Heaven knows. He is there for his own amusement, not mine."
"You didn't know he was there?" she said, looking at him again.
His frown deepened. "Yes, I knew. Of course I knew. Why?"
Her heart sank. "I don't like him," she said. "I know he is clever. I know he saved your life. But I never did like him. I—am afraid of him."
"Perhaps you would have rather he hadn't saved my life?" suggested Guy, with a twist of the lips. "It would have simplified matters considerably, wouldn't it?"
"Don't!" she said, and withdrew her hand. "You know how it hurts me—to hear you talk like that."
"Why should it hurt you?" said Guy.
She was silent, and he did not press for an answer. Instead, very softly he whistled the air of a song that he had been wont to sing to her half in jest in the old days.
Love that hath us in the net
Can he pass and we forget?
She made a little movement of flinching, but the next moment she turned back to him with absolute steadfastness. "Guy, you and I are friends, aren't we? We never could be anything else."