“I know—and I’m grateful,” said Peggie. “But I’m frightened.”
Selwood turned quickly and looked sharply at her.
“Frightened?” he exclaimed. “Of what?”
“Of something that I can’t account for or realize,” she replied. “I’ve a feeling that everything’s all wrong—and strange. And—I’m frightened of Mr. Burchill.”
“What!” snapped Selwood. He dropped the papers and turned to face her squarely. “Frightened of—Burchill? Why?”
“I—don’t—know,” she answered, shaking her head. “It’s more an idea—something vague. I was always afraid of him when he was here—I’ve been afraid of him ever since. I was very much afraid when he came here the other day.”
“You saw him?” asked Selwood.
“I didn’t see him. He merely sent up that card. But,” she added, “I was afraid even then.”
Selwood leaned back against the desk, regarding her attentively.
“I don’t think you’re the sort to be afraid without reason,” he said. “Of course, if you have reason, I’ve no right to ask what it is. All the same, if this chap is likely to annoy you, you’ve only to speak and—and——”