“Of course! Didn’t we all know her before she was married,” answered Valencia. “So far as I remember, you and she used to go about together a good deal.”
Guy yawned, but it seemed to his sister that the yawn was affected.
“Forgotten pretty nearly everything about those days!” he said, with an attempt at unconcern. “Long time ago—and I’ve been otherwise engaged since I left here.”
Valencia turned and looked at Braxfield.
“See if anything’s being wanted upstairs, Braxfield,” she said, with a meaning glance. “You might sit with Sir Anthony a bit—make some excuse if he wants either of us.”
Braxfield took the hint and disappeared, and Valencia turned to her brother.
“Guy,” she said, calling him by name for the first time, “I’m sorry if I seemed to be ungracious just now. But—but you haven’t treated us well, nor kindly. And I want to know why you’ve never been here, all this time—and why you ever left here at all. Can’t you tell me?”
There was a certain earnestness in the girl’s tone that made Guy, inclined to be restive at first under her questioning, change his mood and become reflective. He threw away his cigar, rose from his chair, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, began to pace the room, evidently in deep thought.
“I might tell you some day,” he said at last. “Perhaps—later on—after thinking it over, I will.”
“That’s the second time tonight I’ve had that answer to that very question!” exclaimed Valencia. “In practically the same words!”