"
There was a moment's silence. She felt his aloofness. It awoke
in her some of the enthusiasm with which this mission itself had
failed to inspire her. This man was measuring his strength against
hers.
"It was not altogether a whim," she said, her eyes falling from
his, "and yet--now I am here--it does not seem easy to say what
was in my mind."
He glanced towards the clock.
"I fear," he said, "that it may sound ungallant, but in case this
somewhat mysterious mission of yours is of any importance I had
better perhaps tell you that in twenty minutes I must leave to catch
the Scotch mail."
She rose at once to her feet, and swept her cloak haughtily around
her.
"I have made a mistake," she said. "Be so good as to pardon my
intrusion. I shall not trouble you again."
She was half-way across the room. She was at the door, her hand
was upon the handle. He was white to the lips, his whole frame was
shaking with the effort of intense repression. He kept silence,
till only a flutter of her cloak was to be seen in the doorway.
And then the cry which he had tried so hard to stifle broke from
his lips.
"Lucille! Lucille!"
She hesitated, and came back--looking at him, so he thought, with
trembling lips and eyes soft with unshed tears.
"I was a brute," he murmured. "I ought to be grateful for this
chance of seeing you once more, of saying good-bye to you.
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