The baronet came and bent over his little couch.
“Give me your hand,” said the boy.
The baronet obeyed, still without looking at Rhoda, who was trying to withdraw her fingers from the tight clutch of the child.
“Papa,” said Caryl, “I sent for you because I want you to tell Rhoda not to go away and leave me.”
Sir Robert gazed down at his little son.
“When a lady makes up her mind to do a thing, Caryl, it’s not kind or courteous to try to dissuade her,” said he.
But Caryl persisted.
“I don’t believe she really wants to go, papa. I think she’ll stay if you ask her to,” said he.
“No, no, Caryl, I must go,” said Rhoda hoarsely.
Sir Robert looked up then, and his eyes met hers. In his there was a look of grave, tender kindness of gentle reproach, which cut her to the heart.