A couple of paces from him she stopped and held out her hand.
"My father will be glad to see you," she said. "He was, unfortunately, detained this evening by business. He will be down stairs in a few moments."
His sense of being at a disadvantage when, after she had led him back to the fire, they were seated, was overwhelming. A great heat rushed over him; the hush of the room, broken only by the light ticking of the clock, was misery. His eye traveled stealthily from the hem of her dark purple gown to the crowning waves of her fair hair, but he had not a word to utter. It made him feel almost brutal.
"But the day'll come yet," he protested inwardly, feeling his weakness as he thought it, "when I'll hold my own. I've done it before, and I'll do it again."
Miss Ffrench regarded him with a clear and direct gaze. She did not look away from him at all; she was not in the least embarrassed, and though she did not smile, the calmness of her face was quite as perfect in expression.
"My father told me of his visit to your place," she said. "He interested me very much. I should like to see the Works, if you admit visitors. I know nothing of such things."
"Any time you choose to come," he answered, "I'll show you round—and be glad to do it. It's a pretty big place of the kind."
He was glad she had chosen this subject. If she would only go on, it would not be so bad. He would be in his own groove. And she did go on.
"I've seen very little of Broxton," she proceeded. "I spent a few weeks here before going abroad again with
