He handed her a little packet. She dropped it idly into her lap. She was looking steadfastly away from them.
“You are free from me now,” he continued. “You will find life run quite smoothly, and I do not think that you will be troubled with me when you come back from America. I have other plans.”
“There was a slave,” she murmured, “who grew to love her gaoler, and when they came to set her free and take her back to her own people—she prayed only to be left in her cell! Freedom for her meant a broken heart!”
“But that was fiction,” he answered. “For you, freedom will mean other things. There is work for you to do, honorable work. You must fan the flame of your husband’s ambition, you must see that he does justice to his great opportunities. You have your own battle to fight with society, but you have the winning cards for, before you go, you and your husband will be received as guests—well, by the one person whose decision is absolute.”
She looked at him in amazement.
“My word of honor,” he said quietly, “was enough for Lord Marendon. You will find things go smoothly with you.”
“You are wonderful,” she gasped, “but—you—you spoke of going away.”
“I am going to travel,” he said quietly, “rather a long journey. I have lived three lives, I am going to try a fourth!”
“Alone?” she asked.
“Quite alone,” he answered.