He sat quietly for a few seconds, and then leapt to his feet. 'You are right,' he said; 'there is no chance in the world, there is no such thing as luck. I can't explain it a bit, but there isn't. God never makes a mistake. After all, I could not help falling in love with her, and my love has a meaning. Of course she is not for me,—I am not worthy of her; but I can defend her, I can see that no harm happens to her. Yes, I see, I see. Good night, Luscombe, I—I want to be alone now'; and without another word he passed back into his own room.
The next day was Saturday, and we spent the morning roaming through the countryside around Bolivick, and climbing a rugged tor which lay some distance at the back of the house.
As we neared the house after our long morning's walk, Lorna Bolivick broke out abruptly: 'I am disappointed in your friend, Captain Luscombe.'
'Why?' I asked.
'I don't know. I think I admire him—in fact I am sure I do. He possesses a strange charm, and, in a way, he's just splendid. But why does he dislike me?'
'Does he dislike you?' I asked.
'Can't you see? He avoids me. When for a few minutes we are together, he never speaks.'
'That doesn't prove he dislikes you.'
'Oh, but he does! He acts so strangely, too.'
'You must make allowances for him,' I said. 'You must remember his history. He told you last night that you were the first lady he ever remembered speaking to. It seemed an extravagant statement, but in a way it is true. What his past has been I don't know, but since I knew him his life has never been influenced by women. Think what that means to a man! Besides, he is sensitive and shy. I can quite understand his being uneasy in your presence.'