“No,” said Betty, “not so very well, though of course we have been all over it.”
“My sister was much struck by the library,” he resumed, in his turn changing his seat for one nearer hers.
Betty’s shy eyes glanced at him questioningly with latent reproach. She knew that he knew the association that the room must have for her with the dreaded Laurel Walk, and she looked upon his avoidance of the other evening’s adventure as tacitly promised, till an opportunity presented itself of her explaining more to him.
“I don’t like the library,” she said, in a lower tone. “I don’t like that side of the house at all.”
He understood her.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, dropping his voice also. “I am not going to tease you about it, though I should like to know more of the story.”
A grateful glance out of those same eyes was his reward, and at that moment Lady Emma rose from her seat.
“Dear me!” she exclaimed, with unwonted affability. “I had no idea it was so late. Frances, my dear, Betty, we shall be benighted if we don’t make haste!”
“I hope you have plenty of wraps,” said Mrs Littlewood. “Are you driving?”
“Oh no,” Lady Emma replied, though the inquiry did not displease her, “it is nothing of a walk. Mr Morion hopes to find you at home some day soon, I was nearly forgetting to say.”