She looked up into his face as he sat on the arm of the chair, and she saw that he looked very ill. The scene had been almost too much for him, and she realised that when he spoke of forgetting it was because he could bear no more.
"Yes, love," she said, "we will put it all away for this evening and be happy together as we always are."
Each was conscious, no doubt, that the other was making a great effort, but neither of them referred to the matter again that night. They talked of all manner of subjects, rather nervously and resolutely at first, then naturally and easily as ever, when the deep sympathy which existed between them had asserted itself. During two hours, at least, they nearly forgot what had so violently moved them both.
When Arden laid his head upon his pillow, his anger had not subsided, but he knew that his love had taken greater strength and depth than ever before. He spent a sleepless night indeed, but when he rose in the morning he did not feel tired. Something within him which was quite new seemed to sustain him and nourish him. He could not tell whether it was love for Laura, or anger against the woman who slandered her, or both acting at once, and he did not waste much time in speculating upon his mental condition. He had formed a resolution upon which he meant to act without delay.
It was a rainy morning, chilly and raw again, as the weather had been earlier in the year.
"Give me warm clothes, Donald," he said to his man. "I am going out."
"Going out, my lord! In this weather!" Donald's face expressed the greatest anxiety.
"Never mind the weather," said Arden. "Give me warm clothes, and send for a closed carriage."
Donald obeyed, shaking his head, and muttering in detached expressions of disapproval. He was a privileged person.