“Don’t you understand?” he asked fiercely.
There was a short, tense silence. The diamond star upon her bosom rose and fell. Lady Malingcourt did not recognize herself in the least. Only she knew that he at any rate had been swift to recognize the wonderful transfiguring change which that moment of self-revelation had wrought in her life. But for that she knew that his self-control would not have precipitated the crisis. A sort of glad recklessness possessed her. At least, she had found, if only for a moment, something which filled to the brim the great empty cup of life.
“You are so enigmatic,” she murmured.
“You had better not tempt me to be otherwise,” he answered.
The delight of it carried her away. Their eyes met, and the memory of that moment went with him through life—to be cherished jealously, even when death came.
“Why not?”
“Because I love you. Because you know it! You have filled my life. You have made everything else of no account. I love you!”
He had found her the victim of a mood, marvelously plastic, marvelously alluring. He drew nearer to her. Then from the street below came an interruption. A furiously driven hansom was pulled up, a man sprang out, glanced upward, and waved his hand. A curse trembled upon Strone’s lips. Lady Malingcourt sat up and returned his greeting.
“So like Sydenham,” she murmured. “However he may have loitered on the way, he always arrives in a desperate hurry.”
Strone and Lord Sydenham came face to face in the hall—the latter recognized him with amazement.