"Ah! if you would only come now!"
He kissed her almost roughly again and led her to the door. And he stood watching her with burning eyes as she went up the stairs.
Then he came back and rang the bell.
"I shall be very late, Murcheson—do not sit up, I will turn out the lights. Good-night."
"Very good, Sir John."
And the valet left the room.
But John Ardayre did not write any business letters; he sank back into his great leather chair—his lips were trembling, and presently sobs shook him, and he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
Just before twelve had struck, he went out into the hall, and turned off the light at the main. The whole house would now be in absolute darkness but for an electric torch he carried. He listened—there was not a sound.
Then he crept quietly up to his dressing room and returned with a bottle of the clove-scented hair lotion.
"What a mercy she spoke of it," his thoughts ran. "How sensitive women are—I should never have remembered such a thing."