“You are trying to pique me.”
“I! Oh, no! What interest can I have in the matter?”
“Can you give me your assurance that you have none?”
The sudden intensity of his manner would have forced some show of emotion from Annie if she had not been on her guard.
“I take an interest in the affairs of any friend who has shown me as much kindness as you have, Mr. Cooke,” said she, gravely, and with a little stiffness.
Aubrey was silent for a few minutes.
“Thank you!” he said, dryly, after clearing his throat two or three times.
Annie felt that the conversation had got to a difficult point, and, to avoid the awkwardness of the pause which followed, she rose. He rose too.
“I have intruded upon you too long, Miss Langton; you must want rest and quiet after your long journey,” said he, in a casual-visitor’s tone, which deceived Annie until she saw by the fading daylight that he was as pale as death, and that his lips were quivering.
“I cannot thank you enough for coming. I should have been so very dull here all alone on the first evening of my return, if it had not been for your charity,” said she, with as much vivacity as she could put into her tone and manner.