Then Mr. Royall closed the door-latch and
advanced a few steps.
Charity jumped to her feet. "What have you come for?" she stammered.
The last glare of the sunset was on her guardian's face, which looked
ash-coloured in the yellow radiance.
"Because I knew you were here," he answered simply.
She had become conscious of the hair hanging loose across her breast,
and it seemed as though she could not speak to him till she had set
herself in order. She groped for her comb, and tried to fasten up the
coil. Mr. Royall silently watched her.
"Charity," he said, "he'll be here in a minute. Let me talk to you
first."
"You've got no right to talk to me. I can do what I please."
"Yes. What is it you mean to do?"
"I needn't answer that, or anything else."
He had glanced away, and stood looking curiously about the illuminated
room. Purple asters and red maple-leaves filled the jar on the table; on
a shelf against the wall stood a lamp, the kettle, a little pile of cups
and saucers. The canvas chairs were grouped about the table.
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