"I fear you must have been very ill. How--how changed you are!"
Livingstone was, indeed, fearfully altered. The healthy brown of his
complexion had given place to a dull, opaque pallor; there were great
hollows under the prominent cheek-bones, and his loose dressing-robe of
black velvet hung straight down from the gaunt angles of the immense
joints and bones. His voice sounded deeper than ever as he replied,
"Yes, I have been very ill, and I am utterly changed. But you must have
had something more important to say to me, or you would hardly have
ventured on this step."
She was getting very nervous--inexplicably so for her, who generally
kept her head, while she made others lose theirs,
"No. I only wished--" she hesitated, trying to force a smile, and then
broke off suddenly--"Guy, do speak kindly to me. Don't look at me so
strangely."
His answer came, brief and stern.
"I will speak, then. Miss Bellasys, on what authority from me did you
venture to interfere in my concerns so far as to intercept my
correspondence?"
She tried denial still; it was her way; she always _would_ do it, even
when it could avail nothing--perhaps to gain time.
"I don't know what you mean.
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