"They can't sell any more of my pictures," she said. "I am trying to
get a situation as governess or companion or--anything."
"When did you have anything to eat last?" he asked.
"Yesterday," she answered, and he was just in time to catch her. She
had fainted.
He laid her upon the sofa, poured some water over her face, and fanned
her with a newspaper. His expression of cold indifference remained
unmoved. It was there in his face when she opened her eyes.
"Are you well enough to walk?" he asked.
"Quite, thank you," she answered. "I am so sorry!"
"Put on your hat," he ordered.
She disappeared for a few minutes, and returned dressed for the
street. He drove her to a restaurant and ordered some dinner. He made
her drink some wine, and while they waited he buried himself in a
newspaper. They ate their meal almost in silence. Afterwards, Wingrave
asked her a question.
"Where is Aynesworth?"
"Looking for work, I think," she answered.
"Why did you not stay down in Cornwall?"
"Miss Pengarth was away--and I preferred to return to London," she
told him quietly.
"When are you going to marry Aynesworth?" he asked.
She looked down into her glass and was silent. He leaned a little
towards her.
"Perhaps," he remarked quietly, "you are already married?"
Still she was silent. He saw the tears forced back from her eyes. He
heard the sob break in her throat. Yet he said nothing.
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