Kitty Bellairs deliberately turned the key in the lock, and put it in her pocket. Lord Verney started forward, but was arrested by the sound of his own name, pronounced in the most dulcet and plaintive tone he thought he had ever heard.
"Lord Verney," said Kitty, flinging back her cloak and hood and allowing her pretty brown curls, and a hint of the most perfect shape in Bath, to become visible to the young peer's bewildered gaze. "Lord Verney," said she, and clasped her hands, "a very, very unhappy woman has come to throw herself upon your compassion."
"Madam," said Lord Verney, "what can I do for you?" His boyish soul was thrilled by these gentle accents of grief; he thought he saw a tear running down the white chin; the rounded bosom heaved beneath its bewitching disorder of lace. He glanced at the clock and back at the suppliant in a cruel perplexity. "Madam," said he, "time presses; I have but a few minutes to give you. Tell me, madam, how can I serve you? To do so will be a comfort to me in what is perhaps the last hour of my life."
The lady gave a cry as soft as a dove's, and as plaintive.
"Oh," said she, "it is true, then, what I heard?" and the white hands were wrung together as in extremest anguish.
"Madam," cried he, with outspread arms, and, though without daring to touch her, drawing closer, so close as to hear the quick catch of her breath and to inhale the subtle fragrance of violets that emanated from her.
"Oh," said she, "it is true!" She staggered and caught at the fastenings of her cloak and threw it open.
"You are faint," he cried, strangely moved; "let me call."
But she caught him by the hand. Her fingers were curiously warm for one seized with faintness, but the touch of them was pleasant to the young man as never woman's touch had been before. Out flew the fellow hand to keep his prisoner, and they clung round his great boy's wrist.
He never knew how, but suddenly he was on his knees before her.