He was unmanned. He could not answer her, but turned towards the wall and covered his face with his hand.
"I shan't think of you like that," she said, a note of wondering reproach in her voice. "I shall think of you conquering. I like the hard look that they blame you for. Well, you'll have it soon again, Willie."
She moved towards the door. He did not turn. She waited an instant looking at him. A smile was on her lips, and a tear trickled down her cheeks.
"It's like shutting the door on life, Willie," she said.
He sprang forward, but she raised her hand to stay him.
"No. It is—settled," said she; and she opened the door of the room and walked out into the little entrance-hall.
It was a wet evening, and the rain pattered on the roof of the projecting porch. They stood there a moment, till her cabman, who had taken refuge in the lee of the garden wall, brought his vehicle up to the door. They heard a step creak behind them in the hall, and then recede. Carlin was treading on tip-toe away.
Maggie Dennison put out her hand and met Ruston's. She pressed his hand with strength more than her own, and she said, very low,
"I am dying now—this way—for my king, Willie," and she stepped out into the rain, and climbed into the cab.
"Back to where you brought me from," she called to the man, and leaning forward, where the cab lamps caught her face, so that it gleamed like the face of some marble statue, she looked on Willie Ruston. Her lips moved, but he heard no word. The wheels turned and the lamps flashed, and she was carried away.