“Tell me that in plain words,” he cried. “It is all I ask.”
The door was suddenly opened. Grahame stood upon the threshold. He looked beyond Lucille to Brott.
“You must really forgive me,” he said, “but there is barely time to catch the train, Brott. I have a hansom waiting, and your luggage is on.”
Brott answered nothing. Lucille held out her hands to him.
“Yes or no?” he asked her in a low hoarse tone.
“You must—give me time! I don’t want to lose you. I—”
He caught up his coat.
“Coming, Grahame,” he said firmly. “Countess, I must beg your pardon ten thousand times for this abrupt departure. My servants will call your carriage.”
She leaned towards him, beautiful, anxious, alluring.
“Reginald!”