An agony of terror took her strength as he spoke. Uncertainty was always hard for her to bear, but in this vital matter she felt that she could not endure it.
"If you are going to be cruel and leave me," she said, her face taking on an expression of relentless cruelty, "you must do so at once."
He turned.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—I cannot bear suspense. If, for any reason, you are going to—to go—please go now."
He was honestly puzzled, for she looked at him as if he had been an enemy.
"My dear—my beloved—what do you mean?" His voice was grieved and gentle. "Surely you can see that——" he broke off into French, "that the situation is not simple? That we love we cannot help—nor would we, by God!—but in an honest man and an honest woman——"
"Come along, you two," cried Mrs. Newlyn, "dinner is announced. M. Joyselle, go and find Lady Sophy, and you, Brigit, come and be found by your man—I forget who he is——"
"Eugene Struther," she answered quietly, "I am glad, too."
Struther was one of the best of the young men to be met at the Newlyns, and he and she always got on fairly well. Their table was squeezed rather tightly into a little balcony looking over the diminutive garden that, although she never went into it, or knew one of its flowers from another, was one of the several joys of the Cassowary's heart. So few people have gardens in London.