"Oh! you're so different—from what I thought. You always looked as though you despised everybody—and now you look—Oh! I don't know—but I'm afraid of you—-"
The wretched Bunning was swiftly regaining confidence. He was now, of course, about to plunge a great deal farther than was necessary and to burden Olva with sell-revelations and the rest.
Olva hurriedly broke in—
"Well, come and see me when you want to. I've got a lot of work to do before Hall. But we'll go for a walk one day. . . ."
Bunning was at once flung back on to his timid self. He pushed his spectacles back, blushed, nearly tumbled over his chair as he got up, and backed confusedly out of the room.
He tried to say something at the door—"I can't thank you enough. . ." he stuttered and was gone.
As the door closed behind him, swiftly Olva was conscious again of the Pursuit. . . .
He turned to the empty room—"Leave me alone," he whispered. "For pity's sake leave me alone."
The silence that followed was filled with insistent, mysterious urgency.