"What a paradise this is!" she said, when he joined her again.
His restless eyes followed hers without satisfaction. A certain moodiness had come upon him. He made no answer to her words.
"Why doesn't Bunny come up to see me?" he asked suddenly. "He knows I am here."
She looked at him in surprise. "Are you expecting him?"
He nodded with a touch of arrogance. "Yes. Tell him to come! I shan't quarrel with him or he with me. Is he still thirsting for my blood? He's welcome to it if he wants it."
"Charlie!" she protested.
He turned from her and sat down at the piano. His fingers began to caress the keys, and then in a moment the old sweet melody that he had played to her in the long ago days came softly through the room. Her lips formed the words as he played, but she made no sound.
"There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate.
The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near!'
And the white rose weeps, 'She is late!'
The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear!'
And the lily whispers, 'I wait!'"
"She is certainly very late," commented Charles Rex quizzically from the piano. "And the lily is more patient than I am. Why don't you sing, Maud of the roses?"
She started a little at his voice, but she did not answer. She could not tell him that her throat was dumb with tears.