“They are keen where you are concerned, Miss Davison. It is no secret to you, or to anybody who knows us, that whatever concerns you is of the deepest interest to me.”
She made a movement as if she would have answered him in the same tone as before, with sarcasm, with coldness, with an air of being offended; but before she could utter a word, she glanced askance at him, and something in his look and manner made her expression change. She looked down suddenly, and he saw her lower lip quiver.
“I do wish you wouldn’t,” she said querulously, like a child. “Of what use is it to be interested in me, considering what you think?”
“It’s too late for me to ask if it’s of any use,” said he. “Besides, isn’t it just possible that it may be of use—to you—to know that there is someone to whom you could go if you were in a difficulty, someone who knows so much already that there would be little harm in telling him the rest?”
She threw a frightened glance at him.
“You know nothing,” she said sharply. “You may guess a great deal, and put a wrong construction upon everything; but you really know nothing whatever.”
He hesitated a moment, and then said—
“I know that you are in some way in the power, or under the influence of a man who wishes you to do things against which you revolt.”
It was evident that, whatever she might pretend, Miss Davison was startled by this statement.
“How do you know?” she asked abruptly.