“Yes.”
He drew near to her. The struggle of the last few months seemed lined into his face.
“Listen,” he said. “I want to be honest—to you. I can’t see it any way but this. There’s the woman and all the great underneath millions I wanted to help on one side—and on the other—you.”
“No,” she interrupted. “Your life’s work was never meant to be in Gascester. It is your domestic duty, or what you imagine to be your domestic duty, against your duty to your fellow-creatures. You can leave me out. Be a man. Free yourself—make use of your powers. The world is a great place for such as you. Strike off your shackles.”
“There will be no more—Lord Sydenhams?” he asked breathlessly.
She smiled upon him—a transforming, transfiguring smile. It was the woman who looked out upon him from those soft, clear eyes.
“I am not anxious,” she said, “to be married at all. Only, one must do something. And lately London has been very dull. Is that you, Sydenham? I am quite ready. I am afraid that you must be tired of waiting.”
Lord Sydenham had entered almost noiselessly. He looked from one to the other doubtfully.
“I am not interrupting anything in the nature of a conspiracy, I trust?” he inquired, with a faint note of sarcasm.
Lady Malingcourt smiled.