But he was the one man in ten who, equally a man of honour, felt himself under no obligation to do anything of the kind. If she loved him—and now he knew she did; if he loved her, or was able to love her—and he allowed himself no doubt upon that point from this moment of her self-revelation, though he had not meant to permit anybody (least of all a mere child like this) to supplant the dead woman on whom the passion of his best years had been spent—then the thing was settled. They might waltz together till daylight, and no one would have any right to interfere.
The social complications that surrounded them, and which a conventional gentleman would have considered of the last importance, were to him mere matters of detail. They must manage to get out of them as best they could.
So he carried her round and round the room, the most perfect partner he had ever danced with, who moved so sympathetically with all his movements that she might have been his shadow—but for the electric current of strong life that her hand in his, and her light weight on his shoulder, and the subtle sense of her emotion, sent thrilling through his veins; and in the teeming silence his brain was busy making rapid plans and calculations for effectively dealing with the many difficulties that would come crowding upon both of them as soon as this waltz was over.
Clearly, the first thing to do was to dispose of ambiguities between themselves.
"Come into the conservatory," he said, in a quick under tone, when five silent, delicious minutes had passed; "I want to say something to you before these people begin to spread all over the place again."
But even as he spoke, as if a spell had been broken, the light and rapture died suddenly out of her face, her limbs relaxed, her airy footsteps faltered, she seemed to melt away in his arms.
"Oh," she whispered, looking up at him with tragic eyes, full of fear and despair, "how wicked I have been! What will he say to me?"
"Never mind him," replied Mr. Dalrymple; "you must not let him have any right to dictate to you any more—you must break off your engagement at once, and get out of his hands. Wicked!—the only wicked thing would be to deceive him any longer. You know you don't love him. Come into the conservatory, and let us talk about it. Do come—there is nobody there now!"
But Rachel, being a woman, and a coward, and only eighteen years old, would not come. She knew what she wanted, but she dared not do it—she dared not even think of it.
"I must not—I must not!" she protested, in a childish panic of terror. "Let me go, Mr. Dalrymple, please—I have done very wrong—I am afraid to stay——"