It was a long drive, and the cab jolted roughly from time to time, but the air of the summer night was cool and fresh, and the sky spread its star-spangled canopy in wide, dark beauty over the city.
When they reached their destination it was growing toward midnight.
Grace came down into the entrance of the clubhouse to receive them.
She spoke no word at first, but her two hands went out to Christina, and Christina, remembering the part she had set herself, let her hands rest in Grace’s strong ones.
She looked very white, and frightened, and sad in this moment, and Grace’s heart softened as Valentine’s had done.
“Oh! I am so sorry for you—so sorry,” Grace said, and then the tension of her nerves gave way, and she broke into tears. “Oh! poor Mark!” she said, hoarsely, and she turned away.
Christina did not shed tears, but she was equal to the situation all the same.
“I want to go to him, please,” she said to Valentine, lifting her eyes to him piteously. “Will you take me?”
And Valentine bowed his head, and led the way up the stairs; but he had not gone many steps before he had to turn and support her, and fragile as Christina was in appearance, her weight grew heavier and heavier till, as they came to the top of the stairs, Valentine felt she was unable to move further, and looking down on her pale face pressed against his arm, he saw that her eyes were closed, and he told himself that she had fainted.
The further thought came to him that he had wronged this woman deeply, when he had accused her of having no heart, and a bitter pang of reproach mingled in with his pity for her, and with his grief, deep, true grief for the poor young fellow lying dead in his prime only a few yards away.