“Yes,” said Delia.
He turned and stood with his back to the fire.
“Why do you remain there?” he asked. “Do I frighten you that you will not come and sit down?”
“You—a little confuse me,” she answered, then feeling the folly of it was silent again.
Mr. Wedderburn laughed.
“A plotter, Miss Delia, should not so easily be put out—you are an ardent plotter, are you not?”
With a semblance of ease she crossed over to him. “I know not,” she said. “I have done nothing for my cause—as you have, sir.”
“I have served my King well,” he answered gloomily. There fell a little silence; they were only a foot apart and the sense of his presence over her was as strong as if he touched her with both hands; instinctively she made a sharp movement backwards and something fell with a rattle to the ground.
“Your brooch,” said Mr. Wedderburn and picked it up.
She put her hand to her open collar.