It was Caryll's mood of the moment to feel relieved. He took the ring from her finger, thrust it into his waistcoat pocket, and rose. Then he bowed a little stiffly. After which he left her to sleep.
CHAPTER XXI
An End to the Gossip
All masculine and human as he was, Sir Caryll Carleigh emerged from that darkened room with a vivid vision still remaining of the white bandaged face and a keen awareness of the engagement ring once more in his possession, enormously eased.
If there was a sense of somewhat summary dismissal to annoy, it was more than offset by the knowledge that he was absolutely free. Yes, free even of the chain made by his own impulsive speech.
A thoroughly foolish man, embarrassed by the product of his various and gregarious emotions, may still have sense enough left to experience relief at being afforded a fresh chance.
Life, in spots, was very trying to the young baronet, but still it might have been far worse.
One may not enjoy being buffeted about by a woman one is almost sure one loves. Still it's a poor ball that isn't conscious of a thrill as it rises in the air of limitless freedom after a hard kick.
So Carleigh went lightly along the corridor and turned lightly at the angle. And as he turned he came face to face with Rosamond Veynol. And Rosamond, it so chanced, was looking beautiful as she had never looked beautiful before.