Isabel was frightened at the violence of his words; they must have calmed a harsher nature than hers. His earnestness was all the more terrible from its contrast with his ordinary habit of speech, and his professed modes of thinking. His voice choked. Perhaps for the first time in her life Isabel recognised the fulness of her power over men.
“Mr. Lacour,” she said with grave gentleness, “is this the first of your visits to Miss Warren?”
“It is the first.”
“Will you promise me that it shall be the last—I mean of secret visits?”
“I will never see her again.”
“I exact no such promise as that; it is beyond my right. What I do regard as my right is the assurance that my ward has fair play. Her position is difficult beyond that of most girls. I have confidence in Ada Warren; I believe she respects me—perhaps I should say she recognises my claims as her guardian. My house is open to you when you come on the same footing as other gentlemen.”
“I cannot face you again.”
“Where do you intend to pass the night?” Isabel inquired, letting a brief silence reply to his last words.
“I have got a room at the inn in Winstoke.”
“And to-morrow morning you return to London?”