"
There was a lingering sweetness in her tone which still had a note of
mockery in it. Her silence left Aynesworth conscious of a vague sense
of uneasiness. He felt that her eyes were raised to his, and for some
reason, which he could not translate even into a definite thought, he
wished to avoid them. The silence was prolonged. For long afterwards
he remembered those few minutes. There was a sort of volcanic
intensity in the atmosphere. He was acutely conscious of small
extraneous things, of the perfume of a great bowl of hyacinths, the
ticking of a tiny French clock, the restless drumming of her finger
tips upon the arm of her chair. All the time he seemed actually to
feel her eyes, commanding, impelling, beseeching him to turn round. He
did so at last, and looked her full in the face.
"Lady Ruth," he said, "will you favor me with an answer to my
message?"
"Certainly," she answered, smiling quite naturally. "I will come and
see Sir Wingrave Seton at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. You can
tell him that I think it rather an extraordinary request, but under
the circumstances I will do as he suggests. He is staying at the
Clarence, I presume, under his own name? I shall have no difficulty in
finding him?"
"He is staying there under his own name," Aynesworth answered, "and I
will see that you have no difficulty."
"So kind of you," she murmured, holding out her hand. And again there
was something mysterious in her eyes as she raised them to him, as
though there existed between them already some understanding which
mocked the conventionality of her words.
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