no doubt of his pained embarrassment now. It was plain that he was very deeply moved, even, it would seem, in almost unbearable distress. Miss Ricardo saw it only too clearly, and thought that she knew the cause. She grew pale.
"Ian, don't be unhappy," she said suddenly, in a very frank, sweet tone. "Please don't. Believe me, there's no reason why you should. Everything's over and forgotten, and I should like to be your friend. Why, do you think if I'd had any stupid feelings, I should come to visit my cousin Norman's wife, so near this—place? I knew I should be close to you and Milly, for I'd heard all about Friars' Moat, of course, from Maud, when you came in for your uncle's title; and I knew you had been living here for about seven years. I had to come to England, you see but—maybe you don't see; for perhaps nobody's told you of my brother-in-law's marriage? And the children need me no longerWell, there was no home for me in India—no home I wanted—and I felt I should like to see dear England again, even if I should find myself a little 'out' of things after so many years. Maud asked me to visit her, and I didn't care to refuse. I thought—I thought I should like to meet you and Milly. Can't you understand, and let us be friends, as if there had never been any foolishness?"
"Foolishness!" echoed Sir Ian. "Oh, God—Terry!"
