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His lips compressed, and the gentler note vanished. “Until you find the right man, yes.”
“Of whom you are to be the judge.”
“As you are obviously incapable of making any sensible judgement, yes.”
Maidie eyed him, trying to read his face. “I see,” she said at length. “There is no more to be said, then.”
For a moment, he surveyed her frowningly. “What is it you are planning, Maidie? I warn you I mean what I say. Don’t try to outwit me!” She made no remark, and he sighed. “I have no wish to act the tyrant, but you force me to it.”
She bit her lip against an automatic retort, and turned away again. “If I am the goad, perhaps it would be best if I relieved you of my presence.”
He recognised the gruff little voice. The one she used to conceal her emotions, when she felt herself to have been taken at fault. At once Delagarde knew that, under all the defiance, she was deeply hurt. Remorse bit into him. He recalled his earlier conduct on the balcony with a good deal of self-reproach. He was conscious once again of a wish to put his arms about her—only for comfort. That was impossible. He must content himself with soft words. But when he spoke, what came out of his mouth was not at all what he had intended to say.
“I have no wish to be relieved of your presence, Maidie.”
Her glance flicked round, and he discerned wary suspicion in her eyes. Did she not believe him sincere? It was borne in upon him that a number of things she had said to him seemed to indicate as much. He gave tongue to his puzzlement.
“Why do you look at me so?”
She shrugged, and looked away again. “How should I look at you? In the way you looked at me—on the balcony? Is that what you wish?”
“Of course not! I told you—that was an accident.”
Maidie turned back to him. “An accident. I see. Then believe it as much an accident I became betrothed to Wiveliscombe.”
Maidie eyed the two elder ladies from her chair to one side of the fireplace in the green saloon, and tried to school her features to an expression of bewilderment. “I do not know what you mean, Lady Hester. There is nothing the matter, I assure you.”
It was plain she was not yet a master of duplicity, for her hostess exchanged a disbelieving glance with the Worm, seated next to her on the small sofa opposite, and then returned her gaze to Maidie’s face.
“Then why has Ida reported that she heard you crying in the night?”
Maidie cast a glance of reproach at her duenna’s face. That worthy looked guilty, and her unquiet fingers kneaded at a handkerchief held between them.
“Dearest Maidie, do not be angry with me! What else could I do but beg for dear Lady Hester’s aid, when you refuse to confide in me?”
“There is nothing to confide, Worm.”
She came under the sceptical eye of Lady Hester. “Now that I know to be untrue. Do not imagine I did not observe you go apart with Laurie a second time.”
“What has that to say to anything?” asked Maidie, annoyed to feel herself colouring up.
“What is more,” pursued Lady Hester inexorably, “I saw you come away from that convenient little antechamber, and once again Laurie followed you out.”
“Well, why don’t you ask Delagarde what occurred? I am sure it is far more his doing than mine.”
“What is far more his doing?”
“That I am not yet betrothed!” Maidie burst out, unable to help herself. “If Delagarde has his way, I shall never be so.”
Lady Hester twinkled. “I take leave to doubt that.”
“Why? Are you in his confidence?”
A frown drove the twinkle away. “You sound excessively suspicious, Maidie. What is in your mind?”
Maidie averted her eyes, annoyed with herself for having given so much away. “Nothing.”
“If it is nothing,” put in her duenna in distress, “why should you spend half the night weeping, Maidie?” She peered across at her charge, and evidently made a discovery. “Good heavens, I believe you are in love!”
