"I shall be your friend to the last day of my life," said Dillwyn. But his tone was heavy; the elasticity that always distinguished it had gone out of it for the first time.
In silence they reached the house. Not another word was said about the dance impending. Agatha seeing a couch surrounded by fragrant shrubs, went towards it.
"The dance has begun," said Dillwyn, but so coldly that she shrank from him.
"I am tired," she said.
"Then you had better rest here. Shall I bring you an ice?"
"Thank you."
He went away. Agatha dropped on to the lounge and gave her misery full play. She had put an end to it all—all that might have made her dull life a very spring of joy. And yet to tell the man who loved her that another man—a married man—pursued her with his hateful attentions was more than she could do.
Now, left alone, her spirit failed her, and her eyes filled with tears. She would have given all she possessed to be at home, in her own room, alone, so that her grief might have full sway. She almost hoped he would not come back with the ice. She dreaded the coldness of his regard more than his absence. She—-
"Can I do anything for you, Miss Nesbitt?"
Dr. Darkham stood beside her. It was to Agatha as though he had risen from the dead. She had supposed him still outside in the garden. But he had followed her apparently.