"At once. Almost at once."
"She's coming back immediately?"
"Yes. I—I'm afraid she's in England now."
"How dreadful! Poor girl, hoping to see you—to have you meet her, maybe, and—you're here. You're planning to break her heart. It breaks mine to think of it. I couldn't have you fail."
"For God's sake don't send me away from you. I can't go. I won't."
"Yes, if I beg you to go. And I do. You must stand by this poor girl, alone in the world except for you. I see from what you tell me, that she needs you and appeals to your chivalry by lacking everything except what comes from you. It can't be wrong to protect her, after giving your promise, even though you mayn't love her in the way you once thought you did: but it would be wrong to abandon her now——"
A rustling in the long path made Stephen turn. Some one was coming. It was Margot Lorenzi.
He could not believe that it was really she, and stared stupidly, thinking the figure he saw an optical illusion.
She had on a grey travelling dress, and a grey hat trimmed with black ribbon, which, Stephen noted idly, was powdered with dust. Her black hair was dusty, too, and her face slightly flushed with heat, nevertheless she was beautiful, with the luscious beauty of those women who make a strong physical appeal to men.
Behind her was an Arab servant, whom she had passed in her eagerness. He looked somewhat troubled, but seeing Stephen he threw up his hands in apology, throwing off all responsibility. Then he turned and went back towards the house.