“Brook—” began Lady Fan, as though she were going to say something.
But she checked herself and looked up at him quickly, chilled already by his humour. Clare thought that the woman’s voice shook a little, as she pronounced the name. Brook did not turn his head nor look down.
“Yes?” he said, with a sort of interrogation. “What were you going to say?” he asked after a moment’s pause.
She seemed to hesitate, for she did not answer at once. Then she glanced towards the hotel and looked down.
“You won’t come back with us?” she asked, at last, in a pleading voice.
“I can’t,” he answered. “You know I can’t. I’ve got to wait for them here.”
“Yes, I know. But they are not here yet. I don’t believe they are coming for two or three days. You could perfectly well come on to Genoa with us, and get back by rail.”
“No,” said Brook quietly, “I can’t.”
“Would you, if you could?” asked the lady in white, and her tone began to change again.
“What a question!” he laughed drily.