The delicious softness went out of the slim little body on his knees.
It grew rigid. He looked hopelessly into the fire, but he could feel
the burning inquiry in the girl's eyes. He sensed a swift change
passing through her. She seemed scarcely to breathe, and he knew that
his answer had been more than inadequate. It either confessed or
feigned an ignorance of something which it would have been impossible
for him to forget had he been Conniston. He looked up at her at last.
The joyous flush had gone out of her face. It was a little drawn. Her
hand, which had been snuggling his neck caressingly, slipped down from
his shoulder.
"I guess--you'd rather I hadn't come, Derry," she said, fighting to
keep a break out of her voice. "And I'll go back, if you want to send
me. But I've always dreamed of your promise, that some day you'd send
for me or come and get me, and I'd like to know WHY before you tell me
to go. Why have you hidden away from me all these years, leaving me
among those who you knew hated me as they hated you? Was it because you
didn't care? Or was it because--because--" She bent her head and
whispered strangely, "Was it because you were afraid?"
"Afraid?" he repeated slowly, staring again into the fire.
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