“You have no right!” she cried.
He, too, had risen.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You wouldn’t mind, if you knew how I felt about you. I’m at your feet.”
“You—” she began, but her voice was so uncertain that she could not go on.
“I’m at your feet,” he repeated quietly. “If you want to treat me like this, I can’t help it. It won’t make any difference. I’ll always—”
“Hush!” she said. “The servants will hear you!”
“Let ’em!” said he. “I’ll bet they’ve heard worse than that!”
Without another word he walked away, through the window, out to the terrace again.
Geraldine tried to go on with her breakfast, but a strange confusion and pain filled her. She told herself that this was only an episode, of no significance. Randall would go away soon, and she need never see him or think of him again. What he had said to her he said, very likely, to every woman he met. He had come here to see Serena. He belonged to Serena. He was one of that circle, one of those people without heart, without honor, without decency.
“At her feet!”