"I hardly know how to begin," she said, lowering her eyes.
He did not credit her hesitancy. It was a deceit, he felt, a bit of theatricalism,—the simulated modesty of a woman of experience.
"Begin by being seated," he said rather sharply, as if he meant to convey that he penetrated her sham diffidence.
Ignoring his brusqueness, she dropped into one of the ornate rosewood chairs near the table.
"It is such a delicate matter on which I have come," she began timorously, eying him for a sign of encouragement. "Now that I am here I wish I hadn't come—it's so difficult for me to begin."
His keen gray eyes narrowed on her, but she read no encouragement in his glance. He had regained control of himself and assumed a non-committal attitude, as of one ready to listen, but indifferent as to whether she proceeded or withdrew.
"You haven't revealed the purpose of your visit as yet," he said, crossing his legs. "If you regret having come, you are at liberty to go without further explanation."
He hurled it at her as a challenge, but with a positive feeling that it would not be accepted.
"I have come to warn you," she said with sudden resolution.
"To warn me of what?" His brow knitted in puzzled surprise.