"Yes," said Rosamond.
She lay waiting for the dreaded blow to fall. It was not long delayed.
"It is high time, indeed, that we should all have a change," pursued the Lieutenant-Governor.
He still held her hand in his and looked down complacently to see how white it lay, in the shaded room, upon his broad palm: how slight a thing, how delicately shaped, with taper fingers and filbert nails. The great man had chosen her in the zenith of his life and success because of her beauty. She had little birth to boast of, and no fortune. But it pleased him at every turn to trace in her those points which are popularly supposed to belong only to the patrician.
"It is high time," said Sir Arthur, turning the passive hand to gaze at a palm no deeper tinted than is the pale blush of mother-of-pearl, "that we should get back to England for a while. And, by the way, that young man, Bethune of the Guides, poor English's friend—you know, my love—has dear Aspasia told you? We met him this morning; he is also going to travel home very shortly."
"So Aspasia told me."
"I have advised him to wait for our boat. A good plan, don't you think? We could be talking over that biography together—pour passer le temps—eh, my dear?"
"Pour passer le temps."
"Yes. I informed Major—ah—Bethune, that you had some idea about preferring to do this little matter yourself. As I said to Bethune: 'I am willing to undertake it for her; but in this, she must be free—quite free.'" He paused upon the generous concession. Her lips moved.
"What did you say?" he asked.