She broke off abruptly. What she really meant was that it explained the fact of her father’s acquiescence to the proposed marriage between herself and his younger guest; and also to the latter’s way of talking as though he were wealthy and heir to a title, as well as other points which had puzzled her.
The door of the sitting-room in which they stood was wide open, and Dakin, the housemaid, passed along the corridor, apparently without paying any particular attention to Stella and Hilary; but Stella disliked and distrusted the woman, and moved toward the door as Dakin made a great pretence of going down the staircase to the ground-floor.
“I will say good-by now, Miss Cranstoun,” said Hilary, in a constrained voice. “I shall be leaving the house almost immediately. May I leave it to you to make my apologies to Lady Cranstoun?”
“But you will stay to luncheon, surely?” Stella suggested. “It will seem so strange if you go like this. And besides, you are not nearly strong enough to be moved yet. You can hardly walk, and last night you were delirious, I know.”
“How do you know?”
She blushed deeply.
“I charm away mamma’s headaches,” she answered, in confusion. “I believe I have some kind of magnetism in my touch. So I asked Margaret to let me soothe you.”
“It was you, then. I woke out of a horrid nightmare, and felt your touch, and heard your voice.”
His tones vibrated with deep feeling, which he was trying vainly to suppress. Stella, on her part, was torn between a desire to escape and a longing to remain near him.
The first luncheon-gong rang out in the interval of silence. Stella held out her hand to him.