Scott had just gone to the village post-office with some letters, but she had refused to accompany him, for it was the hour when she usually sat with Isabel.  She glanced at Eustace swiftly as he sat down, half-expecting a message from the sick-room.  But he said nothing, merely leaning back in the wicker-chair, and fixing his eyes upon the sombre splendour of endless waters upon which hers had been resting.  There was a massive look about him, as of a strong man deliberately bent to some gigantic task.  A little tremor went through her as furtively she watched him.  His silence, unlike the silences of Scott, was disquieting.  She could never feel wholly at ease in his presence.

He turned his head towards her after a few seconds of absolute stillness, and in a moment her eyes sank.  She sat in palpitating silence, as one caught in some disgraceful act.

But still he did not speak, and the painful colour flooded her face under his mute scrutiny till in sheer distress she found herself forced to take the initiative.

“Is—­Isabel expecting me?” she faltered.  “Ought I to go?”

“No,” he said quietly.  “She is dozing.  Old Biddy is with her.”

It seemed as if the intolerable silence were about to fall again.  She cast about desperately for a means of escape.  “Biddy was up and down during the night.  I think I will relieve her for a little while and let her rest.”

She would have risen with the words, but unexpectedly he reached forth a detaining hand.  “Do you mind waiting a minute?” he said.  “I will not say—­or do—­anything to frighten you.”

He spoke with a faint smile that somehow hurt her almost unbearably.  She remained as she was, leaning forward in her chair.  “I—­am not afraid,” she murmured almost inaudibly.

His hand seemed to plead for hers, and in a moment she laid her own within it.  “That’s right,” he said.  “Dinah, will you try and treat me as if I were a friend—­just for a few minutes?”

The tone of his voice—­like his smile—­pierced her with a poignancy that sent the quick tears to her eyes.  She forced them back with all her strength.

“I would like to—­always,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” he said.  “You are kinder than I deserve.  I have done nothing to win your confidence, so it is all the more generous of you to bestow it.  On the strength of your generosity I am going to ask you a question which only a friend could ask.  Dinah, is there any understanding of any sort—­apart from friendship—­between you and Scott?”

She started slightly at the question, and in a moment firmly, with a certain authority, his hand closed upon hers.

“You needn’t be afraid to speak on Scott’s account,” he said, with that rather grim humility that seemed so foreign to his proud nature that every sign of it stabbed her afresh.  “I am not such a dog in the manger as that and he knows it.”

“Oh no!” Dinah said, and her words came with a rush.  “But—­I told you before, didn’t I?—­he doesn’t care for me like that.  He never has—­never will.”