“He should have sent a servant, then!” she answered sharply.
A faint colour rose to the chaplain’s cheeks.
“He thought me more trustworthy, perhaps,” he said meekly. “And it is possible he was under the impression that my company might be more acceptable.”
“If I may be plain,” she answered tartly, “I am in no mood for a stranger’s company.”
“And yet,” he said, with a gleam of appeal in his eyes, “I would fain hope to make myself acceptable.”
She gave him no direct answer; only,
“I cannot understand, I really cannot understand,” she said, “of what he was thinking. You had better give me the letter now, sir. I may find something in that which may explain.”
But he only cast down his eyes.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that I must not disobey the directions which Captain Clyne laid upon me.”
“Very good,” she retorted; “that is as you please. Only—our paths separate here. The road we are on will take you to the inn—you cannot miss it. My path lies this way.”