"You must let me tell you how sorry I am for the sorrow that has come upon you—upon us all."
Mrs. Romaine stared at her for a moment; an angry light showed itself in her eyes.
"You have come to tell me that?" she said, with chill disdain.
"I came to say so—yes," Lady Alice answered, in her surprise.
"I am very much obliged to you, I am sure." The tone was almost insolent, but the woman was herself again. The oddness, the awkwardness of manner had passed away, and her old grace of bearing had come back. Even her beauty returned with the flush of crimson to her face and the lustre of her eyes. The prospect of combat brought back the animation and the brilliancy that she had lost.
"There were other things I thought that you had perhaps come to say—repetitions of what you said to me years ago—before you left your husband."
Lady Alice rose at once. "I think you had better not touch on that subject," she said gently but with dignity. "I did not come here with any such intention. I hoped all that was forgotten by you—as it is by me."
"I have not forgotten," said Mrs. Romaine, rising also, and fixing her eyes on Lady Alice's face.
"I am sorry for it. You will allow me——"
"No, do not go: stay for a minute or two, I beg of you. I am not well—I said more than I meant—do not leave me just yet." She spoke now hurriedly and entreatingly.