"But it
makes me feel rather strange to you." She looked full at him with a plain
distress in her eyes, and her voice shook a little. "I'm coming to feel
more strange towards you," she went on. "I thought we had got nearer at
Ashwood, we did for the moment. But now I'm farther off again."
"I would have you always very near," he said in low tones, his eyes
saying more than his lips.
"I know. And perhaps you've had thoughts----" She paused before she added,
"Alexander's quite set on his course, nothing will stop him--except the
thing that I expect to stop him. You know what I mean?"
Marchmont nodded again.
"And he's doing it a good deal because of me. I wonder if you understand
that?"
"I don't know that I do."
"No; he knows more of me than you do."
She became silent, and he, watching her, was silent too. What was this
strangeness of which she spoke? He felt it too but without understanding
it. It caused in him a vague discomfort, an apprehension that some
obstacle was between them, something more than any external hindrance, a
thing which might perhaps remain though all external hindrance were
removed.
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