His Grace of Andover made a sign to the footmen, and with a sinking heart Diana watched them leave the room, discreetly closing the door behind them. She affected to eat a peach, skinning it with fingers that were stiff and wooden. Tracy leaned back in his chair, surveying her through half-shut eyelids. He watched her eat her peach and rise to her feet standing with her hand on the back of the high, carved chair. She addressed him nervously and with would-be lightness.
"Well, sir, I have eaten, and I protest I am fatigued. Pray have the goodness to conduct me to your housekeeper."
"My dear," he drawled, "nothing would give me greater pleasure-always supposing that I possessed one."
She raised her eyebrows haughtily.
"I presume you have at least a maidservant," she inquired. "If I am to remain here, I would retire."
"You shall, child, all in good time. But do not be in a hurry to deprive me of your fair company." He rose as he spoke, and taking her hand, led her dumbly to a low-backed settee at the other end of the great room.
"If you have aught to say to me, your Grace, I beg that you will reserve it until to-morrow. I am not in the humour to-night."
He laughed at her.
"Still so cold, child?"
"I am not like to be different, sir."
His eyes glinted.
"You think so? I shall show you that you are wrong, my dear. You may loathe me, you may love me, but I think you will lose something of that icy indifference. Allow me to point out to you that there is a couch behind you."
"I perceive it, sir."
"Then be seated."
"It is not worth the while, sir. I am not staying."
He advanced one step towards her with that in his face that made her sink hurriedly on to the couch.
He nodded smiling.
"You are wise, Diana."
"Why so free with my name, sir?" This with icy sweetness.
Tracy flung himself down beside her, his arm over the back of the settee and the fingers of his drooping hand just touching her shoulder. It was all the girl could do to keep from screaming. She felt trapped and helpless, and her nerve was in pieces.
"Nay, sweet! An end to this quibbling. Bethink you, is it worth your while to anger me?"
She sat rigid and silent.
"I love you-ay, you shudder. One day you will not do that."
"You call this love, your Grace?" she cried out, between scorn and misery.
"Something near it," he answered imperturbably.
"God help you then!" she shivered, thinking of one other who had loved her so differently.