He shook his head and explained, mournfully: "It is very strange, this thing of not belonging to yourself but to the world. It is a sacrifice Grace must make!"
His voice rang with a subtle regret. But suddenly he raised his head proudly and looked straight at her.
"It is a sacrifice worth making—for the sake of the downtrodden whom you will uplift with your beauty. Au revoir, Grace. I am needed!"
He approached her. She tried to draw back. He halted before her, took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it.
"I am the dirt under your feet," he murmured, and left the room.
His was the gait of the Invincibles. He had cast a bewitching spell of unreality over the entire drawing-room that made Grace feel like both actress and audience.
She heard him in the hall calling, "Frederick!" And, after a brief pause, "My hat and cane!"
There was another pause. Then she heard Frederick say, infinitely more respectfully than Frederick had ever spoken to Mr. Goodchild, "Thank you very much, sir."
Mrs. Goodchild paid Frederick by the month for working. H. R. had given Frederick twenty dollars for being an utterly useless menial. Hence Frederick's logical gratitude and respect.