"I thank you for that at least."
"Nor would ever have seen him."
"Oh, as to----"
"Is that the reason you would not enter my house nor accept my hospitality?"
He did not answer, but his neck stiffened, and he gave her the direct look which she well knew meant assent. And she thought to herself:
"There is not anything base and odious of which he does not think me capable. It is well that he and I should part for ever. The soul constantly suspected of baseness and cruelty must become degraded in time and shrink away to nothing. I will go away from here to places where my soul can grow and not shrink." These thoughts passed swiftly through her mind. All she said aloud was:
"You need not have feared. Horace Valdana has never come here, nor ever will. He and I will not meet again."
They had come out of the shadowy whispering paths and reached the open gravelled terrace, with the still waters of the Mediterranean lying below, silent under the stars, sombre as a pool of blue ink. The little group of chairs stood inviting. By mutual consent they sat down. Inside the Villa Haidee was at the piano playing wide, gallant chords, to which Rupert, in a rather strong tenor, sang snatches of the Paimpolaise.
"Et le pauvre gars ... fredonne tout has:
* * * * *
'J'aime Paimpol et sa falaise,
Son cloche et son grand Pardon.
J'aime encore mieux, la Paimpolaise
Qui m'attend au pays breton.'"
"Of course," said Westenra slowly, "if you are alone, and are going to be alone ... I have no right to take Bran."