“Shall you speak to him?” she asked carelessly.
“If he wishes it. Certainly.”
Teresa had thrown her head back like a spirited horse as she spoke, and at the same moment a knock came at the door. The English gentleman would be obliged if her excellency would give him a few words on the terrace.
“Her excellency will,” she returned, flinging a defiant look at her grandmother, and resenting a shadow of doubt in her manner. She went out of the room quickly and silently, and Wilbraham, who was watching the windows from the end of the terrace, threw away his cigar and came to meet her. She saw that he was very pale, and her own manner was hard as she stood waiting for him to speak.
“I feel that I owe you an explanation,” he began.
“I thought, on the contrary, that you might be asking for one from us,” said Teresa at once coldly. “Sylvia has broken her engagement, she tells me.”
He hesitated, and turned away his look.
“I should have tried to make her happy,” he said, weighing his words.
“You have failed, however, so far.”
“It seems so.” He had hesitated again.