"
"I was wrong then," he said, "not to give him your address."
"You were right," she answered. "I am anxious that he should not
know it. You will remember this?" He rose and bowed over her hand.
"This has been a selfish interlude," he said. "I have destroyed
your rest, and I almost fear that I have also disturbed your peace
of mind. Let me take my leave and pray that you may recover both."
She shook her head.
"Do not leave me," she said. "I am low-spirited. You shall stay
and cheer me."
There was a light in his eyes which few people would have recognised.
She rose with a little laugh and stood leaning towards the fire, her
elbow upon the broad mantel, tall, graceful, alluring. Her soft
crimson gown, with its wealth of old lace, fell around her in lines
and curves full of grace. The pallor of her face was gone now--the
warmth of the fire burned her cheeks. Her voice became softer.
"Sit down and talk to me," she murmured. "Do you remember the old
days, when you were a very timid young secretary of Sir George
Nomsom, and I was a maid-of-honour at the Viennese Court? Dear
me, how you have changed!"
"Time," he said, "will not stand still for all of us. Yet my memory
tells me how possible it would be--for indeed those days seem but
as yesterday."
He looked up at her with a sudden jealousy.
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