"I shall always want to be giving, to you. Always, always. Please understand that. My service is to you, and so to myself. Try to think of me in that light, patiently."
And then a sort of desperation seized her. She probed her mind for a form of words which should give him no further loophole to persist in his veiled menaces, for she could call them no less, one that should seize a meaning out of his allusions and crush it with a directness which could not be misunderstood. Her eyes grew hard; she rose to her feet.
A step sounded in the hall, and the hangings were pushed aside. Her father stood before them.
He looked at Aylmer with amazed reproach. His face, already haggard with anxiety, took on new lines of concern.
"My dear sir!" he protested. "My dear sir!"
And Aylmer could not resist a smile. It was the form of protest which he had used at their former meeting to veil—what? Antipathy? And now? The words were full of genuine concern. He read no longer dislike in Mr. Van Arlen's glance. The elder man's eyes had softened as they reached his.
He warded off further reproaches with a question.
"The news?" he cried eagerly. "The news is what?"
"Good, in so far that we can gauge the direction of their flight. They have been seen passing Arzeila; the morning's gale has prevented their attempt to reach any port of Spain."
"And so—?"