“You have quite frightened my friend, Miss Rolfe,” she said. “Una, this unfortunate gentleman is Mr. Newcombe.”
Jack had given her time, and she was able now to look at him calmly. Jack bowed, his eyes glancing at her as if they scarcely dared trust the evidence of their own senses.
“Pray forgive me,” he said. “I am very awkward. But I don’t break quite so many things as they say. Is there any more champagne, Lady Earlsley? I don’t deserve it, I know——”
Lady Bell took up a bottle.
“Pour this into the cup, Una,” she said, with a smile. “It is true he doesn’t deserve it, but we will be merciful.”
Una took the bottle and leaned forward, and as she did so Jack rose and stood before her, so that he screened her trembling hand from the eyes of the rest.
His own trembled, his own heart beat wildly; all else save the beautiful face so close to his own swam before his eyes.
Was he dreaming, or was it really she? He could not trust his eyes, he felt that he must touch her.
Slowly he put out his hand, and gently, tremblingly touched her white, slender wrist.
Instantly she raised her eyes and looked at him, a long, piteous look, as if he had struck her.