His voice sounded as if he were deeply moved.
“I must—Vere! Vere!”
She moved towards the house. But Artois stepped forward swiftly, laid a hand on her arm, and stopped her.
“No, leave Vere alone to-night.”
“Why?”
“She wishes to be alone to-night.”
“But I find her here with you.”
There was a harsh bitterness of suspicion, of doubt, in her tone that he ought surely to have resented. But he did not resent it.
“I was sitting on the terrace,” he said, gently. “Vere came in from the garden. Naturally she stayed to entertain me till you were here.”
“And directly I come she rushes away into the house!”