She shook her head and smiled gently, ironically perhaps, indulgently also as on a rebuked child.
"I had better go now, Peter," she said quietly. "I feel sure George Orange is on his way to drag me to his wife's box."
Just for another second he did not move. "It is no use, Rosemary," he said, and in his turn smiled as on something very dear, very precious, wholly unattainable. "It is no use, my dear."
"What is no use, Peter?" she murmured.
"Thinking that all is over."
"In six months' time, if I am alive," she rejoined coolly, "I shall be Jasper Tarkington's wife."
"I know it, dear. Jasper is my friend, and I would not harbour one disloyal thought against him. But you being the wife of an enemy or of my best friend is beside the point. I cannot shut you out of my life, strive how I may. Never. While I am as I am, and you the exquisite creature you are, so long as we are both alive, you will remain a part of my life. Whenever I catch a glimpse of you, whenever I hear the sound of your voice, my soul will thrill and long for you. Not with one thought will I be disloyal to Jasper, for in my life you will be as an exquisite spirit, an ideal, greater or less than woman. Just you. If you are happy I shall know it. If you grieve, Heaven help the man or woman who caused your tears. I have been a fool; yet I regret nothing. Sorrow at your hands is sweeter than any happiness on earth."
It was quite dark where they stood side by side in this moment of supreme farewell. Each felt the inevitableness of it all—the fatality. Pride on either side had built a barrier between them: honour and loyalty would consolidate it in the future. Too late! Everything was too late!
Peter bent his knee to the ground and slowly raised the hem of her gown to his lips. But Rosemary did not move: for that one instant her limbs had become marble, and in her soul she prayed that her heart, too, might turn to stone.
Then Peter rose and opened the door, and she passed out into the world again.