The girl was standing erect and her face had gone white. The large, dark-lashed grey eyes had something of a snap in them.
“It’s too late for that now,” she answered. “It cannot and shall not be broken off, no never. As long as he lives I will cling to him, and the more unfortunate he is the more I will cling to him. He is—my life.”
Le Sage’s face had gone white too—at least as far as the weather-beaten bronze was capable of doing—white with anger.
“So that’s your answer?” he said.
“That’s my answer.”
For a moment they gazed at each other. Then, before a reply could come, a sound without struck upon the ears of both. It was the creaking sound made by the swing of a gate upon its hinges. Both faces turned to the window. Coming up the path between the orange trees was Wyvern himself.
Whereby it is manifest that infinite potentialities lay within the space of the next half-hour.