She was the first to rise from the table. He followed her, opened the door, and held it until she had passed out.
In the hall Gloria paused with indecision as to her next step.
She had always been accustomed, since her return home, to go into the drawing-room, sit down at the grand piano and play some of Marcel de Crespigney’s favorite music, and, later in the evening, just before retiring, to sing some of his best-loved songs.
Now she stood for a moment in doubt. Her vague uneasiness made her wish for the privacy and safety of her own chamber. Her benevolence made her unwilling to wound her guardian’s feelings by any such avoidance of his company.
Only for a moment she hesitated, and then she led the way to the drawing-room, followed by Colonel de Crespigney.
She played and sang for him all the evening, as usual, and on bidding him good-night, gave him her hand to kiss, as before.
He merely touched it with his lips, and dropped it without a word.
Gloria went to her room and retired to bed; but it was long before she could compose herself to sleep, and when she did so her slumbers were troubled with evil dreams that kept her tossing and starting all night.
Only towards morning she slept soundly—so soundly that she was first awakened by the ringing of the breakfast-bell.
She arose in haste and dressed herself, and went down to the breakfast-room, where she found her guardian pacing to and fro, waiting for her.