He had a strange impression of her as she rose from a very sea of newspapers. She was thinner—he was sure of that—dressed in indoor clothes although it was the middle of the morning, a suggestion of the invalid about her easy-chair and her tired eyes. It seemed to him that for a moment they were lit with a gleam of fear which passed almost instantaneously. She had recovered herself even before the door was closed behind the departing servant.
"Mr. Tallente!" she repeated. "You! But how is this possible?"
"Everything is possible," he answered. "I have come to see you, Jane."
She was glad but amazed. Even when he had obeyed her involuntary gesture and seated himself by her side, there was something incredulous about her expression.
"But what does it mean that you are here just now?" she persisted.
"According to the newspapers you should be at Buckingham Palace to-day."
"To-morrow," he corrected her. "I hired a very powerful car and motored down yesterday afternoon. I am starting back when the moon rises to-night. For these few hours I am better out of London."
"But why—" she faltered.
He was slowly finding himself.
"I came for you, Jane," he said, "on any terms—anyhow. I came to beg for your sympathy, for some measure of your affection, to beg you to come back to Charles Street. Is it too late for me to abase myself?"
Her eyes glowed across at him. She suddenly rose, came over and knelt by the side of his chair. Her arms went around his neck.