It recalled him to himself. A kiss that, under the circumstance, she thought it best to endure was imprinted on her forehead. “You did perfectly right, my impulsive darling. It is Lady Forrest who is to blame. I requested her never to leave you alone.”
“Why shouldn’t she leave me alone?” said Nina, sharply.
He did not reply; and, motioning him to a chair, she perched herself on his knee,—an honour that he accepted with uneasy delight, when he found it accompanied by the taking of his head between her two hands, and the inexorable scrutiny of his face by two brilliant eyes.
“’Steban,” she said, sweetly and sadly, “in some respects you are not a very nice man.”
He felt relieved, but she went on: “I mean to say that you are not easy to get on with on account of your dreadful temper, but”—and here she brought his face as close to hers as their two noses would allow—“with all your faults I know that you would not tell me a lie on a serious subject.”
He began to feel uneasy again, and his uneasiness increased when she broke down and hid her face on his shoulder. “Oh, ’Steban,—I say that man was mad, but he was not mad. He is my father really, truly, isn’t he? Tell me.”
There was a long silence. Captain Fordyce gently stroked the back of her head, but made no effort to utter a word.
“Is he my father?” asked Nina, suddenly lifting her face.
He did not reply.
“Will you tell me?” and her voice was almost fierce.