“How can you think so cruelly of me, Victor,”
she murmured. “You were always a little
mistaken in Lucille. She loved you, it is true,
but all her life she has been fond of change and excitement.
She came to Europe willingly—long before
this Brott would have been her slave save for your
reappearance. Can’t you forget her —for
a little while?”
Mr. Sabin sat quite still. Her hair brushed
his cheeks, her arms were about his neck, her whole
attitude was an invitation for his embrace.
But he sat like a figure of stone, neither repulsing
nor encouraging her.
“You need not be alone unless you like,”
she whispered.
“I am an old man,” he said slowly, “and
this is a hard blow for me to bear. I must be
sure, absolutely sure that she has gone.”
“By this time to-morrow,” she murmured,
“all the world will know it.”
“Come to me then,” he said. “I
shall need consolation.”
Her eyes were bright with triumph. She leaned
over him and kissed him on the lips. Then she
sprang lightly to her feet.
“Wait here for me,” she said, “and
I will come to you. You shall know, Victor,
that Lucille is not the only woman in the world who
has cared for you.”
There was a tap at the door. Lady Carey was
busy adjusting her hat. Passmore entered, and
stood hesitating upon the threshold. Mr. Sabin
had risen to his feet. He took one of her hands
and raised it to his lips. She gave him a swift,
wonderful look and passed out.
Mr. Sabin’s manner changed as though by magic.
He was at once alert and vigorous.
“My dear Passmore,” he said, “come
to the table. We shall want those Continental
time-tables and the London A.B.C. You will have
to take a journey to-night.”
The two women were alone in the morning-room of Lady
Carey’s house in Pont Street. Lucille
was walking restlessly up and down twisting her handkerchief
between her fingers. Lady Carey was watching
her, more composed, to all outward appearance, but
with closely compressed lips, and boding gleam in
her eyes.
“I think,” Lady Carey said, “that
you had better see him.”
Lucille turned almost fiercely upon her.
“And why?”
“Well, for one thing he will not understand
your refusal. He may be suspicious.”
“What does it matter? I have finished with
him. I have done all that I pledged myself to.
What more can be expected of me? I do not wish
to see him again.”
Lady Carey laughed.
“At least,” she said, “I think that
the poor man has a right to receive his congé from
you. You cannot break with him without a word
of explanation. Perhaps—you may not
find it so easy as it seems.”
Lucille swept around.
“What do you mean?”
Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders.
“You are in a curious mood, my dear Lucille.
What I mean is obvious enough. Brott is a strong
man and a determined man. I do not think that
he will enjoy being made a fool of.”
