He would have taken her hand, but she held aloof, pausing upon one of the lower steps. His elaborate courtesy repelled her. It was artificial. The half-amused and half-triumphant glint in his eyes betrayed the real man.
"Father refuses to leave the house."
"I am sorry. I shall have to persuade him. You will pardon me."
She barred the way.
"No—no roughness; he is an old man."
"You misjudge me; I am not a cut-throat. A few gentle words will serve."
He turned, picked up the lantern, and came back toward the stairs. His eyes were fixed upon Nance's eyes, and he smiled as he passed her.
"Why will you not do me justice?"
His voice caressed her, and she shrank aside, as though from physical contact. For the moment a great dread of the man made her wild to escape, but she steadied herself and remained true to her purpose.
De Rothan walked into Anthony Durrell's room and held the lantern over the bed.