"More often. And when he isn't at Tremore, your father goes to his cottage on the moors. I can't understand why your father likes him so much. There seems to be something evil about Narvaez."
"Oh!" Alice laid a trembling hand on his arm; "have you felt that also?"
"Yes. I'm not a sensitive chap as a rule, but Narvaez makes me uncomfortable—just like Mr. Hyde in Stevenson's story, you know. Whatever you do, don't consent to be his wife, Alice."
"I certainly shall not, whatever my father may say. At the worst I can always marry you."
"That isn't a compliment," murmured Hardwick, mortified.
"Well, you know what I mean. I respect you and like you, even if I don't love you, Julian. And if I did marry you I should never give you cause to complain of coldness on my part."
"Oh, Alice"—his face lighted up.
"No! No! No! The compact still stands. Until I am driven into a corner we are only brother and sister."
"Of course. It's an odd arrangement."