“Yes, I killed him,” he admitted. “That is part of my creed. The men who defend their honour in the Law Courts are men I know nothing of. This man would have wronged me and robbed me of my honour. I bade him defend himself in any way he thought well. It was his life or mine. He was a poor fighter and I killed him.”
“And Margaret's mother died from the shock.”
“She died soon afterwards.”
The stars grew paler. The passing vehicles, with their brilliant lights, grew fewer and fewer. The breeze which had been so welcome at first, turned into a cold night wind. She led the way back into the room.
“I must go,” he announced.
“You must go,” she echoed, looking up at him. “Good-bye!”
She was so close to him that his embrace, sudden and passionate though it was, came about almost naturally. She lay in his arms with perfect content and raised her lips to his.
He broke away. He was himself again, self-furious.
“Lady Cynthia,” he said, “I owe you my most humble apologies. The evil that is in me does not as a rule break out in this direction.”
“You dear, foolish person,” she laughed, “that was good, not evil. You like me, don't you? But I know you do. There is one crime you have always forgotten to develop—you haven't the simplest idea in the world how to lie.”