“What was it you wanted to see me about?” he continued.
“I’ll tell you. Come in, will you?”
By this time they had reached the house and Ann led the way into the living-room. She was conscious of an acute feeling of trepidation and, by way of postponing the evil moment, paused to put her snowdrops in water in a bowl which she had left filled in readiness on the table.
“Are you staying at White Windows?” she asked, as she arranged the flowers with quick, nervous touches.
“I am not,” replied Brett. “I gathered, during the last conversation I held with my revered aunt, that my welcome had worn a trifle thin—as you are doubtless aware,” he concluded mockingly.
“Then—then where—how did you come here?”—in some astonishment.
“I came on the Sphinx. I am at present living on board, and at the moment she is anchored in Silverquay bay. Any other questions?”
Ann flushed hotly.
“I beg your pardon,” she said with downcast eyes. “I didn’t mean to be inquisitive, only naturally I—I rather wondered where you had sprung from. You did arrive somewhat suddenly, you know.”
“I did,” he acquiesced. “I was on my way to the south, of France and your letter was forwarded on to me at Southampton, where I’d put in en route. So we steamed for Silverquay at once. Now, perhaps, you’ll gratify my curiosity as to what is the important matter you want to see me about. I can only think of one matter of any real importance,” he added daringly, his blue eyes raking her face with the audacious, challenging glance which was so characteristic of the man.