She bent towards him.
“Is it better now?” she whispered, smiling.
He threw out his hands with a quick fierce gesture. It was well that the great room was wrapped in the mysterious obscurity of semi-darkness, and that every one was occupied with the business of farewells. He sprang to his feet.
“I am going,” he said thickly. “My friends are expecting me.”
She shook her head.
“Those are not your friends,” she said. “You know very well that they never could be. You can go and wish them good night. You are going to see me home.”
“No!” he declared.
“If you please,” she begged softly.
He crossed the room unsteadily, and made his excuses with the best grace he could. Mademoiselle Rosine made a wry face. Miss Ella laid her fingers upon his arm and looked anxiously up at him.
“Say you won’t disappoint us to-morrow,” she said. “It’s all fixed up about Paris, isn’t it? Two-twenty from Charing Cross.”