It was only when Theodora had awakened him that he had begun even to think of controlling himself.
It was to please her, not because he was really convinced of the right and necessity of their course of action, that he had said good-bye and agreed to worship her in the abstract.
He had been highly moved and elevated by her that night in Paris. And when he wrote the letter his honest intention had been to follow its words.
He did not recognize the fact that without the zeal of blind faith as to the right, human nature must always yield to inclination.
So they sat there and ate their supper, and forgot to-morrow, and were radiantly happy.
As they had gone down the stairs Monica Ellerwood had joined Lady Bracondale in the gallery above.
"Oh! Look, Aunt Milly!" she had said. "Hector is with the American I told you about in Paris. Do you see, going down to supper. Oh, isn't she pretty! and what jewels—look!"
And Lady Bracondale had moved forward in a manner quite foreign to her usual dignity to catch sight of them.
"It is the same woman he talked to at the opera last night," she said. "She is not an American, but a Mrs. Brown, an Australian millionaire's wife, we were told. She is certainly pretty. Oh—eh—you said Hector was devoted to her in Paris?"
"Why, of course! You can ask Jack."