He moved to the door, and held it open. She walked past him into the hall. He nodded to the waiting footman, who at once brought him his hat and gloves. As he took them he said: “I beg you will make my excuses to Mrs. Scattergood. Good night, Miss Taverner.”
“Good night!” said Judith, and turning on her heel, went back into the front drawing-room.
She entered with a somewhat hasty stride and shut the door behind her if not with a slam, at least with a decided snap. Her eyes were stormy; her cheeks looked hot. She flashed a look round the room, and the wrath died out of her face. Mrs. Scattergood was not present; there was only Mr. Taverner, seated by the window, and glancing through a newspaper.
He got up at once, and laid the paper aside. “I am so late. Forgive me, cousin! I was detained longer than I had thought possible—hardly liked to call upon you at this hour, and indeed should have done no more than leave the book with your butler, only that he assured me that you had not retired.”
“Oh, I am glad you came in!” Judith said, holding out her hand to him. “It was kind in you to remember the book. Is this it? Thank you, cousin.”
She picked it up from the table, and began to turn the leaves. Her cousin’s hand laid compellingly over hers made her look up. He was regarding her intently. “What is it, Judith?” he asked in his quiet way.
She gave a little, angry laugh. “Oh, it is nothing—it should be nothing. I am stupid, that is all.”
“No, you are not stupid. Something has occurred to put you out.”
She tried to draw her hand away, but he did not slacken his hold. “Tell me,” he said.
She looked significantly down at his hand. “If you please, cousin.”