"Nothing is the matter there. I told you I had business in Paris. Well, it is finished."
"And you are going to-day?"
"I start this evening."
"We shall miss you."
She felt a strange constraint creeping over her. She could not even express naturally her sorrow and disappointment at his going. She began again to have the feeling of being guilty, and accused, and being eager to defend herself without knowing how.
"I shall not be far off, and you will know where to find me. When you want me, for whatever reason, you have only to write and I will come."
"But I always want you," she answered half pettishly. "You said you would stay at least till Lady Dighton went away."
Maurice got up and walked to the window.
"I miscalculated," he said, coming back. "We all do sometimes, I suppose."
He stood in a favourite attitude, leaning with one arm on the mantelpiece, and watching Lucia with a mixture of love and bitterness. His last words seemed to her a taunt, and tears of anger filled her eyes. She remained silent, and he had to speak again.