Mr. Paget had come into the room. He had come in softly, and he must have heard Valentine's words, and seen that close embrace.
With a glad cry the girl flew to his side, but when he kissed her his lips trembled, he sank down on the nearest chair like a man who had received a great shock.
CHAPTER XV.
"I'm afraid I can't help it, sir," said Wyndham.
Mr. Paget and his son-in-law were standing together in the very comfortable private room before alluded to in the office of the former.
Wyndham was standing with his back to the mantel-piece; Valentine's lovely picture was over his head. Her eyes, which were almost dancing with life, seemed to have something mocking in them to Mr. Paget, as he encountered their gaze now. As eyes will in a picture, they followed him wherever he moved. He was restless and ill at ease, and he wished either that the picture might be removed, or that he could take up Wyndham's position with his back to it.
"I tell you," he said, in a voice that betrayed his perturbation, "that you must help it. It's a clear breaking of contract to do otherwise."
"You see," said Wyndham, with a slow smile, "you under-rated my attractions. I was not the man for your purpose after all."
"Sit down for God's sake, Wyndham. Don't stand there looking so provokingly indifferent. One would think the whole matter was nothing to you."