“I want to ask you something,” he said, leaning his arm against the oaken mantel-shelf. “In reviewing the events of the last three weeks, it has struck me as curious that you, of all persons, should have nursed my little girl, since neither she nor I had the slightest claim on you. Tell me, Lady Patricia, and do not be offended at my question—why did you do it?”
“Why?” She hesitated. “Oh, because I thought it was a case in which I could assist. I am always ready to help anyone in trouble, if I can.”
“I see. You did it for charity’s sake. If it had been my lodge-keeper’s child you would have nursed her with equal willingness and care?”
“Certainly.”
“Ah!” His exclamation was sharp and gruff. “Then you did not do it as a personal favour to me?”
“No.” She met his gaze steadily. “I did not do it for you.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. He turned round and gave the fire a vigorous poke, which sent the flames roaring up the chimney. The light caught the diamond star at her breast, and set it scintillating with prismatic rays. Then with his eyes almost involuntarily set on the jewel, he addressed her again.
“It is as well to know the truth,” he said, with feigned nonchalance. “Otherwise I might have flattered myself that you nursed Phyllis for my sake. I suppose, in reality, you consider me more of an enemy than a friend?”
“I think I have reason to do so,” she returned, with a sigh.
“On account of the Jewish question?” he asked slowly.