“I don’t,” he answered roughly. “I don’t want to be friends with you.”
Then, ambiguous as his words were, she saw where she stood, and she mustered her presence of mind. She rose from her seat. “And I,” she said, “am not going to quarrel with you, Mr. Basset. I am going now to learn how Etruria is. And then I shall see my uncle.”
She escaped before he could answer.
Once or twice it had crossed her mind that he looked at her with intention; and once reading that look in his eyes she had felt her color rise, and her heart beat more quickly. But the absence on her side of any feeling, except that which a sister might feel for a kind brother, this and the reserve of his manner had nipped the fancy as soon as it budded. And if she had given it a second thought, it had been only to smile at her vanity.
Now she had no doubt of the fact, no doubt that it was jealousy that moved him, and her uppermost, almost her only feeling was vexation. Because they had lived in the same house for five months, because he had been useful and she had been grateful, because they were man and woman, how foolish it was! How absurd! How annoying! She foresaw from it many, many, inconveniences; a breach in their pleasant intercourse, displeasure on her uncle’s part, trouble in the house that had been so peaceful—oh, many things. But that which vexed her most was the fear that she had, all unwittingly, encouraged him.
She believed that she had not. But while she talked to Etruria, and later, as she went down the stairs to interview her uncle, she had this weight on her mind. She strove to recall words and looks, and upon the whole she was sure that she could acquit herself, sure that of this evil no part lay at her door. But it was very, very vexatious!
On the threshold of the library she wrested her thoughts back to the present, and paused a moment, considering what she should say to her uncle.
She need not have troubled herself, for he was not there. At the first glance she took the room to be empty; a second showed her Basset. She turned to retire, but too late; he stepped between her and the door and closed it. He was a little paler than usual, and his air of purpose was not to be mistaken.
She stiffened. “I came to see my uncle,” she said.
“I am the bearer of a message from him,” he answered. “He asked me to say that he considers the matter at an end. He does not wish it to be mentioned again. Of course he does not blame you.”