“We will have tea the moment we get to the hotel. It’s just half-past five now. I’ve taken rooms there.”
“Rooms,” she repeated, looking at him with a vacant gaze.
“Yes; in my name, and what will one day be yours,” and he lifted one of her hands and kissed it. “Rooms for Captain and Mrs. Lumley.”
The future Mrs. Lumley dragged away her hand, and made no reply; her face flamed, no one could call her pale now.
“Letty Lumley goes rather well,” continued her companion, unabashed; “and here we are—come along!” helping her out; then proceeding up the steps he ushered her into the entrance of the hotel. They passed through a great hall, entered a spacious lift, and were whirled to the first floor, where they were evidently expected. A ready man-servant came forward with (as it seemed to the lady) significant empressement, and threw open the door of a lofty sitting-room, furnished with heavy silk curtains, tall mirrors between the windows, a soft dark carpet, Oriental vases, cabinets, lounges, and luxurious chairs. A formal, expensive apartment, somewhat stiff and gloomy, but made beautiful with flowers.
“All the flowers you like best, Letty,” explained Lumley, as the man departed with an order for tea, “every one of your favourites, to bid you welcome.”
“Yes, lovely,” she faltered. “How—thoughtful of you!” and she buried her face in a great bowl of roses and carnations. How, she asked herself, was she, the coward of cowards, to tell Lancelot the truth? She raised her eyes, and was confronted by a Chinese incense burner; a monster in bronze, a sort of demon dog, with a high spiral tail, and a flat, diabolical head, which confronted her on an opposite cabinet, with a hideous grin.
The bronze demon, as if alive and malignant, appeared to mock her, and say:
“You know you cannot do it, you little born fool!”
She turned away, and looked out of the window, with misty eyes and a fluttering heart—aware that, her life had reached a desperate climax!