“I know it, but——”
“But—your faith in me is so weak. Why cannot you trust me more?”
He was silent.
“You must get rid of these weaknesses. It all comes of your living so much alone. Besides, I want you particularly to come and dine with me on Sunday. Mr. Meres will be here, and I should like you to know him. I shouldn’t wonder if he can be useful to you.”
Kingcote made a gesture of impatience.
“But you won’t refuse, if I wish it? He is the most delightful man, and such an old friend of mine.”
“The less reason why I should like him.”
“Now, Bernard, this is foolish. Are you going to be jealous of every one I know? Oh, what a terrible time is before you!”
She said the words with mirthful mockery, and to Kingcote they were like a sudden stab. It was as though a future of dreadful things had suddenly been opened before his eyes, black, yawning, thronged with the shapes of midnight agonies. Her laugh had a taunting cruelty; her very eyes looked relentless. In this moment he feared her.
She was sitting some little distance away, and could not let him feel the touch of her hand which would have soothed.