“How could I not come? It seemed to me I was rather badly needed. Dont’t cry, dear girl, please! I’m going back to-morrow, and I’ll take you with me. I’ll not leave you again. But I say, Emily, exactly[Pg 169] what was there in my letter that upset you so? I couldn’t—”
“You wanted me to go to your mother’s hotel!”
“I know; but that wasn’t so bad, was it? She wanted you to come, and I thought that if you did, you know—if she saw more of you, there’d be—well, more harmony.”
He was smiling down at her, as her head lay on his shoulder, but in his eyes there was a pain that he could not hide or stifle. She sat up suddenly.
“There will be, Denis!” she said vehemently. “There will be harmony, my dear, darling old Denis! I’ve been selfish and horrible!” He tried to stop her, but she would go on. “I knew all the time that I was. Oh, Denis, forgive me, and let me have another chance! Let’s go now to your mother, and—”
“Not much!” said Denis. “Not after the note I left!”
“It’s early. Perhaps she hasn’t come home yet. Oh, do tell the man to hurry! Denis, let me have my chance!”
IX
There Denis sat, as much at home in that icy room as a frog in water. To be sure, he had offered to close the window, but Emily had declined, preferring to wear her fur coat. His very voice had changed. All the warmth had gone out of it, and his face wore a look she had not seen before—a bored and disdainful look.
Yet she knew that he was really happy. All the talk about old friends and old days, from which she was so entirely shut out, interested and pleased him. She knew that he thought Cecil amusing and Cynthia a beautiful and distinguished girl, and that he profoundly admired his mother’s frosty calm. He was among his own people, and immeasurably glad to be there.