He was in one of his most unhappy moods, for some reason or other, and so unreasonable was his frame of mind, that the movement, simple as it was, galled him bitterly.
"Will you tell me why you did that?" he asked, abruptly.
Her eyes fell upon the carpet at her feet, but she sat with her hands still clasped upon the half-concealed book, without answering him.
"You would not have done it three months ago," he said, almost wrathfully, "and the thing is not more worthless now than it was then, though it was worthless enough. Give it to me, and let me fling it into the fire."
She looked up at him all at once, and her eyes were full to the brim. Lady Throckmorton was right in one respect. She was strengthless enough sometimes. She was worse than strengthless against Denis Oglethorpe.
"Don't be angry with me," she said, almost humbly. "I don't think you could be angry with me if you knew how unhappy I am to-day." And the tears that had brimmed upward fell upon the folded hands themselves.
"Why to-day?" he asked, softening with far more reason than he had been galled. "What has to-day brought, Theodora?"
She answered him with a soft little gasp, of a remorseful sob. "It has brought M. Maurien," she confessed.
"And sent him away again?" he added, in a low, unsteady voice.
She nodded; her simple, pathetic sorrowfulness showing itself even in the poor little gesture.