Her eyes were still fixed on the upper reaches of the sky when she became aware that a shadow had flitted across the glory-flooded room: it must have been Harney passing the window against the sunset….She half raised herself, and then dropped back on her folded arms. The combs had slipped from her hair, and it trailed in a rough dark rope across her breast. She lay quite still, a sleepy smile on her lips, her indolent lids half shut. There was a fumbling at the padlock and she called out: “Have you slipped the chain?” The door opened, and Mr. Royall walked into the room.
She started up, sitting back against the cushions, and they looked at each other without speaking. 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.
“So this is where you meet,” he said.
His tone was quiet and controlled, and the fact disconcerted her. She had been ready to give him violence for violence, but this calm acceptance of things as they were left her without a weapon.
“See here, Charity–you’re always telling me I’ve got no rights over you. There might be two ways of looking at that–but I ain’t going to argue it. All I know is I raised you as good as I could, and meant fairly by you always except once, for a bad half-hour. There’s no justice in weighing that half-hour against the rest, and you know it. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have gone on living under my roof. Seems to me the fact of your doing that gives me some sort of a right; the right to try and keep you out of trouble. I’m not asking you to consider any other.”
She listened in silence, and then gave a slight laugh. “Better wait till I’m in trouble,” she said. He paused a moment, as if weighing her words. “Is that all your answer?”
“Yes, that’s all.”
“Well–I’ll wait.”
He turned away slowly, but as he did so the thing she had been waiting for happened; the door opened again and Harney entered.
He stopped short with a face of astonishment, and then, quickly controlling himself, went up to Mr. Royall with a frank look.
“Have you come to see me, sir?” he said coolly, throwing his cap on the table with an air of proprietorship.
Mr. Royall again looked slowly about the room; then his eyes turned to the young man.
“Is this your house?” he inquired.
Harney laughed: “Well–as much as it’s anybody’s. I come here to sketch occasionally.”
“And to receive Miss Royall’s visits?”
“When she does me the honour—-”
“Is this the home you propose to bring her to when you get married?”
There was an immense and oppressive silence. Charity, quivering with anger, started forward, and then stood silent, too humbled for speech. Harney’s eyes had dropped under the old man’s gaze; but he raised them presently, and looking steadily at Mr. Royall, said: “Miss Royall is not a child. Isn’t it rather absurd to talk of her as if she were? I believe she considers herself free to come and go as she pleases, without any questions from anyone.” He paused and added: “I’m ready to answer any she wishes to ask me.”