She came in unaccustomed garb to me. She wore a grey dress of some soft material, and a large black hat with feathers. Her skirts were gathered up in her hand, and I heard the jingling of harness at the corner of the avenue where her carriage was waiting. I opened the door, and she entered with a soft swish of silk and a gentle rustling. The room seemed instantly full of perfume of Neapolitan violets, a great bunch of which were in her bosom.
She looked swiftly around, and I fancied that it was a relief to her to find me alone.
"Is Colonel Ray here?" she asked.
"He is waiting for you," I answered, "on the sands. I promised to call him directly you came."
I moved toward the door, but she checked me with an imperative gesture.
"Wait," she said.
I came slowly back and stood by my table. She was sitting with her hands clasped together, looking into the fire. She looked very girlish and frail.
"I want to think—for a moment," she said. "Everything seems confusion.
My father has commanded me to break my engagement with Colonel Ray."
I remained silent. What was there, indeed, for me to say?
"In my heart," she went on slowly, "I know that my father is wrong and that Colonel Ray is right. He has simply done his duty. Blenavon was being sorely tempted. He is better away—out of the country. Oh, I am sure of that."