“Not now, not now,” he muttered; “go away now. I'll come to you to-morrow.”
The little model gave him the look a dog gives you when it asks if you are deceiving him. She made a sign on her breast, as a Catholic might make the sign of his religion, drawing her fingers together, and clutching at herself with them, then passed her little dirty handkerchief once more over her eyes, and, turning round, went out.
Hilary remained standing where he was, reading the open book without apprehending what it was.
There was a wistful sound, as of breath escaping hurriedly. Mr. Stone was standing in the open doorway.
“She has been here,” he said. “I saw her go away.”
Hilary dropped the book; his nerves were utterly unstrung. Then, pointing to a chair, he said: “Won't you sit down, sir?”
Mr. Stone came close up to his son-in-law.
“She is too young to be in trouble. Did you tell her that?”
“What is her trouble, then?” said Mr. Stone. The closeness of this catechism, the intent stare of the old man's eyes, were more than Hilary could bear. He turned away.
“You ask me something that I cannot answer.
With the blood still beating in his temples, his lips still quivering, and the feeling of the girl's clasp round his knees, he almost hated this old man who stood there putting such blind questions.
Then suddenly in Mr. Stone's eyes he saw a startling change, as in the face of a man who regains consciousness after days of vacancy. His whole countenance had become alive with a sort of jealous understanding. The warmth which the little model brought to his old spirit had licked up the fog of his Idea, and made him see what was going on before his eyes.
At that look Hilary braced himself against the wall.
A flush spread slowly over Mr. Stone's face. He spoke with rare hesitation. In this sudden coming back to the world of men and things he seemed astray.
“I am not going,” he stammered, “to ask you any more. I could not pry into a private matter. That would not be---” His voice failed; he looked down.
Hilary bowed, touched to the quick by the return to life of this old man, so long lost to facts, and by the delicacy in that old face.
“I will not intrude further on your trouble,” said Mr. Stone, “whatever it may be. I am sorry that you are unhappy, too.”