“Be just.  You knew I was going too.  You knew I urged our going because—­”

“Well, why?” Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of her mouth had softened by not a little.

“There is a danger of being snowed up here.  Now I appreciate that there would be greater danger in starting out so late.  And,—­and equally desperate for me, whatever we do.”

“Desperate?”

“If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,—­to hate me, as your look said.”

“I do not hate you.”

“You are very eager to be rid of my company.”

“I did not understand.”

“You are going to stay?”

“Until we can go safely.”

“Not longer?”

As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she said, “We are under sufficiently large obligations to you already.”

And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing them with satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips.

Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated.  To be observed at all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to be observed by one who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable.  Never, said Geoffrey to himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay’s clear little eyes, never should any influence lead him to let a thief slip through his fingers.

He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another word alone with Cecilia.  McVay must always be present.  It was a hideous sort of revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man’s company.  Geoffrey had not appreciated the full meaning of his instructions to McVay to keep always in sight.  Not a word or a look could be exchanged without McVay’s seeing and rejoicing.

Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the brother of so tender a creature must remember his responsibility.

“Well, my dear,” he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, “feel better?  Really a terrible experience.  Holland has just been telling me about it—­saying how well you behaved,” (Geoffrey favoured him with a scowl behind her back), “a perfect heroine,—­so he says.”

“Mr. Holland is very kind,” said the girl.

“Kind!” cried McVay enthusiastically.  “Kind!  I should rather think he was.  Why, I could give you instances of his kindness—­”

“You need not trouble,” said Geoffrey.

McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say:  What did I tell you?... so modest, so unassuming.