She could not tell him what she knew or guessed, and even if she could, he would not believe her.
What could she do?
Staying day by day under the same roof with Sir Robert, she had fallen more and more completely under the influence of his great kindness and gentleness, of the nature that was ever self-sacrificing, ever considerate for others, yet with a certain manliness and firmness that made Rhoda wonder what he would be like if he should ever find out that those he loved and trusted had deceived him.
She was still torn with her fears on his account when the baronet came in, racquet in hand, and sitting down beside her, asked her kindly how she felt.
The girl, pale and trembling, looked into his gentle, kindly face, and the words that came to her lips refused to come further.
He smiled at her, and patted her hand.
“You’ve been overtiring yourself. I shan’t let you come downstairs to-morrow,” he said.
Rhoda struggled to regain her self-command and answered steadily:
“I must come down to-morrow, Sir Robert, for I must go back home.”
“You are tired of us? That you are in such a hurry to get away?”