"Dr. Darkham! You!" Her tone was cold, almost haughty.
"Yes. I followed you!" He looked at her, his eyes resting on her. Such strange eyes, they seemed on fire! And his tone—it was one she had never heard before.
As for Darkham, he stood there looking at her, gloating on her beauty—the beauty for which he had sold his soul. How sweet she was—a thing born of the gods! So tall, so slender, so defiant, so divine!
But in all his dreams of her, had she ever been as beautiful as now? She had still her arms round the young trees—she was, indeed, clinging to them now, as if demanding support of them— and her small shapely head and slender figure showed through them as though they formed a living panel.
Something other than the longing to be always with her had urged him towards this interview. The fear of losing her altogether! He had seen the way she went, and had followed her, and had rightly judged that she was waiting here to see Dillwyn return.
He knew Mrs. Greatorex. Money was a god to her, and she would strongly urge Agatha to act as he desired. She would condone the haste of his proposal. He could explain away all that by saying he feared to lose her—by a judicious hint about Dillwyn's attentions. He knew how that would annoy her. And she was an obstinate and determined woman, who would go all lengths to gain her own ends. He could see her to-night—a note would manage it.
"You followed me!" Her soft eyes flashed. "Why should you follow me?"
"You know," said Darkham. He advanced a step nearer to her. "You must know."
His voice now was shaken with passion, and his face was deadly white. He was alone with her, far from every one, and he was going to tell her that he loved her. To him it was the moment of his life.
"I know nothing. I desire to know nothing."