* * * * *
Meanwhile Delia, with a red spot of agitation on either cheek, was sitting at the old satin-wood bureau in the drawing-room, writing a cheque. A knock at the door disturbed her. She half rose, to see Wilmington open and close it.
A look at his face startled her. She sank back into her chair, in evident confusion. But her troubled eyes met his appealingly.
Wilmington's disturbance was plain.
"I had ventured to think—to hope—" he began, abruptly—"that although you refused to give me your promise when I asked it, yet that you would not again—or so soon again—receive Mr. Lathrop—privately."
Delia rose and came towards him.
"I told Lady Tonbridge not to come down. Was that very wrong of me?"
She looked at him, half smiling, half hanging her head.
"It was unwise—and, I think, unkind!" said Winnington, with energy.
"Unkind to you?" She lifted her beautiful eyes. There was something touching in their strained expression, and in her tone.