“To be quite frank I called to see Janet Fordyce,” he replied brusquely, nettled by her manner.
“I prefer you when you are candid....”
“Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me?”
“Is that so difficult a thing to do?” insolently.
“If you mean I swallow every——” Barnard stopped, controlling his aroused anger with difficulty. “Come, come,” he said more mildly. “It is a waste of time for us to bandy words.” He held out his hands with the charming smile which had won many a friend for him. “Let’s kiss and—forget.”
Marjorie made no move to take his extended hand. “Who let you in?” she asked.
“The footman.” Barnard paced rapidly up and down before the chimney-piece, then seated himself by Marjorie’s side. “Don’t treat me as an outsider,” he pleaded. “I have always your best interests at heart; let me share your worries as well as your pleasures. I’ll do anything in the world for you, Madge, anything”—and his voice shook with the strength of his passion.
Marjorie hesitated; her distrust controlling her impulse to confide her perplexities to the man who, only six short weeks before, had absorbed her mind and, as she thought, her heart.
“You are very kind,” she began formally. The conventional words somewhat chilled Barnard’s ardor, but his offended expression went unnoticed as Marjorie again hesitated. “What did Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper say to you about the loss of her necklace?” she asked finally.
Barnard smiled wryly. “It would be easier to tell you what she left unsaid—she only exhausted her vocabulary as we reached her house, and even then Pauline had to caution her to be quiet before the servants.”