A look at his face startled her. She sank back into her chair, in evident confusion. But her troubled eyes met his appealingly.
Wilmington"s disturbance was plain.
"I had ventured to think--to hope--" he began, abruptly--"that although you refused to give me your promise when I asked it, yet that you would not again--or so soon again--receive Mr. Lathrop--privately."
Delia rose and came towards him.
"I told Lady Tonbridge not to come down. Was that very wrong of me?"
She looked at him, half smiling, half hanging her head.
"It was unwise--and, I think, unkind!" said Winnington, with energy.
"Unkind to you?" She lifted her beautiful eyes. There was something touching in their strained expression, and in her tone.
"Unkind to yourself, first of all," he said, firmly. "I must repeat Miss Delia, that this man is not a fit a.s.sociate for you or any young girl. You do yourself harm by admitting him--by allowing him to see you alone--and you hurt your friends."
Delia paused a moment.
"Then you don"t trust me at all?" she said at last, slowly.
Winnington melted. How pale she looked! He came forward and took her hand--
"Of course I trust you! But you don"t know--you are too young. You confess you have some business with Mr. Lathrop that you can"t tell me--your guardian; and you have no idea to what misrepresentations you expose yourself, or with what kind of a man you have to deal!"
Delia withdrew her hand, and dropped into a chair--her eyes on the carpet.
"I meant--" she said, and her tone trembled--"I did mean to have told you everything to-day."
"And now--now you can"t?"
She made no reply, and in the silence he watched her closely. What could account for such an eclipse of all her young vivacity? It was clear to him that that fellow was entangling her in some monstrous way--part and parcel no doubt of this militant propaganda--and calculating on developments. Winnington"s blood boiled. But while he stood uncertain, Delia rose, went to the bureau where she had been writing, brought thence a cheque, and mutely offered it.
"What is this?" he asked.
"The money you lent me."
And to his astonishment he saw that the cheque was for 500, and was signed "Delia Blanchflower."
"You will of course explain?" he said, looking at her keenly. Suddenly Delia"s embarra.s.sed smile broke through.
"It"s--it"s only that I"ve been trying to pay my debts!"
His patience gave way.
"I"m afraid I must tell you--very plainly--that unless you can account to me for this cheque, I must entirely refuse to take it!"
Delia put her hands behind her, like a scolded child.
"It is my very own," she protested, mildly. "I had some ugly jewels that my grandmother left me, and I have sold them--that"s all."
Winnington"s grey eyes held her.
"H"m--and--has Mr. Lathrop had anything to do with the sale?"
"Yes!" She looked up frankly, still smiling. "He has managed it for me."
"And it never occurred to you to apply to your guardian in such a matter? Or to your lawyer?"
She laughed--with what he admitted was a very natural scorn. "Ask my guardian to provide me with the means of helping the "Daughters"--when he regards us all as criminals? On the contrary, I wanted to relieve your conscience, Mr. Winnington!"
"I can"t say you have succeeded," he said, grimly, as he began to pace the drawing-room, with slow steps, his hands in his pockets.
"Why not? Now--everything you give me--can go to the right things--what you consider the right things. And what is my own--my very own--I can use as I please."
Yet neither tone nor gesture were defiant, as they would have been a few weeks before. Rather her look was wistful--appealing--as she stood there, a perplexing, but most charming figure, in her plain black dress, with its Quakerish collar of white lawn.
He turned on her impetuously.
"And Mr. Lathrop has arranged it all for you?"
"Yes. He said he knew a good deal about jewellers. I gave him some diamonds. He took them to London, and he has sold them."
"How do you know he has even treated you honestly!"
"I am certain he has done it honestly!" she cried indignantly. "There are the letters--from the jewellers--" And running to the bureau, she took thence a packet of letters and thrust them into Winnington"s hands.
He looked them through in silence,--turning to her, as he put them down.
"I see. It is of course possible that this firm of jewellers have paid Mr. Lathrop a heavy commission behind the scenes, of which you know nothing. But I don"t press that. Indeed I will a.s.sume exactly the contrary. I will suppose that Mr. Lathrop has acted without any profit to himself. If so, in my eyes it only makes the matter worse--for it establishes a claim on you. Miss Delia!--" his resolute gaze held her--"I do not take a farthing of this money unless you allow me to write to Mr. Lathrop, and offer him a reasonable commission for his services!"
"No--no! Impossible!"
She turned away from him, towards the window, biting her lip--in sharp distress.
"Then I return you this cheque"--he laid it down beside her. "And I shall replace the money,--the 500--which I ought never to have allowed you to spend as you have done, out of my own private pocket."
She stood silent, looking into the garden, her chest heaving. She thought of what Lady Tonbridge had told her of his modest means--and those generous hidden uses of them, of which even his most intimate friends only got an occasional glimpse. Suddenly she went up to him--
"Will you--will you promise me to write civilly?" she said, in a wavering voice.
"Certainly."
"You won"t offend--insult him?"
"I will remember that you have allowed him to come into this drawing-room, and treated him as a guest," said Winnington coldly. "But why, Miss Delia, are you so careful about this man"s feelings? And is it still impossible that you should meet my wishes--and refuse to see him again?"
She shook her head--mutely.