'Good morning, Miss Clay. Please forgive me. I hope I'm not troubling
you? They told me Lady Conroy was out but that you were at home and up
here; and I hoped--' He glanced at the highly decorated little piano.
This room had been known as the music-room before it was given
to Dulcie.
'Oh, not at all,' she said in confusion, looking up and regretting her
crimson and swollen eyes and generally unprepared appearance.
He immediately came close to her, sat down on a chair opposite her sofa,
leant forward and said abruptly, in a tone of warm sympathy:
'You are distressed. What is it, my child? I came up to ask you to play
over this song. But I shall certainly not go now till you've told me
what's the matter.'
'Oh, I can't,' said Dulcie, breaking down.
He insisted:
'You can. You shall. I'm sure I can help you. Go on.'
Whether it was his personality which always had a magnetism for her, or
the reaction of the shock she had had, Dulcie actually told him every
word, wondering at herself. He listened, and then said cooly:
'My dear child, you're making a mountain out of a molehill. People
mustn't worry about trifles. Just before the war I won a lot of money at
Monte Carlo.
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