But Stephen interrupted again, more sharply.
“Besides, Latham is in the house. He may come into this room at any minute—we couldn’t ask him to be a party to this. By Jove! no; he mustn’t see you; now I think of it, he suspects something already; he was questioning me shrewdly yesterday. I didn’t like it then, I like it very much less now. The coast’s quite clear,” he said, looking through the door. “Go up to my room—you will be safe there. Go! Go now. I’ll come to you presently, and we can talk things over—arrange everything.”
Hugh Pryde hesitated. It seemed to him that some strong impulse forbade him to leave the room. He looked at Helen, but she seemed as hesitating as he, and at last he muttered something about, “Another word to old Grant, the old brick,” and went reluctantly into the hall.
CHAPTER XXXII
Neither followed him, and Stephen did not even call after him “not to linger in the hall, running the risk of being seen,” but turned at once to Helen, who sat brooding and puzzled.
“Helen,” Pryde said earnestly, “you must help me persuade him to go at once.”
“I can’t do that, Stephen,” the girl replied slowly.
“But it’s madness for him to stay here.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Helen said, shaking her head. “I have the same feeling that he has—exactly the same feeling.”
“Helen, be sensible!” he begged roughly. “Look things in the face! What evidence could there be here that would help you?”