"Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. Not much. "I have some difficulty in preventing myself from becoming your executioner. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other.
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