“Oh?” Her voice grew slightly cold. “How? I shouldn’t have thought her a woman of many surprises.”
Robert broke off a twig from an overhanging hazel, snapped it, and threw it away before he spoke.
“She accused me of being tired of her. Said she had no wish to stand in my way. No,” in answer to her sudden inquiring look, “she brought no accusation; she has heard nothing of our—our friendship. It was just a whim, I suppose. But—I’ve taken her at her word.”
Her eyes held his. “You mean?”
“She wished that we should be friends,” he returned, with a shrug of the shoulders. “We shall be—friends, henceforth.”
Before he could analyze the expression which leaped to her eyes, she had averted her head.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, softly.
There was a long pause.
“Is Mr. Mayne an old friend of hers?”
Robert started. “Yes,” he returned, reluctantly. “She has known him since she was a girl of seventeen or eighteen. I asked him here,” he added, with an effort.