As she covered him with her brilliant eyes he tightened his shoulders and stood firm, while his spirit braced itself against persuasion. If it was the Ballingers' cottage—
"I really am ashamed of myself. I never seem to send for you unless I'm in trouble."
"Isn't that the time?" His voice thickened. "So long as you do send—"
He thought: It isn't the Ballingers' cottage then.
"It's your own fault. You've always been so good, so kind. To my poor
Toby."
"Nothing to do with Toby, I hope, the trouble?"
"Oh, no. No. And yet in a way it has. I'm afraid, Mr. Waddington, I may have to leave."
"To leave? Leave Wyck?"
"Leave dear Wyck."
"Not seriously?"
He wasn't prepared for that. The idea hit him hard in a place that he hadn't thought was tender.