He touched her arm trembling and hoarse.
“Now promise me just this, that you will make one appeal—one strong appeal—this week, at once, and try to get free; and let me know if you succeed. You will, if your heart is set on it, I know.”
She shook her head drearily.
“You overrate my determination, my strength of will, all the fine and noble qualities which, somehow or other, you still contrive to imagine in me,” said she gently. “I have no such force of character as you think. I’m a poor, wretched puppet, dancing to anyone who is clever enough to play the right tune. Don’t hope, don’t hope.”
“I do hope, all the same,” cried he passionately, and hurriedly, as Arthur, perceiving that he was coming too soon, delayed a little, and lingered just out of earshot. “I want you to make this appeal, and to let me know the result. Will you? Will you?”
She smiled sadly.
“I can tell you the result already,” said she despondently; “but if you like, I will make it.”
He had no time to say more, for Arthur had joined them, rather sheepishly, rather bewildered. He carried Miss Davison back to her friends, and then caught Gerard up as he was leaving the grounds, having made him a sign that he wanted a word with him.
As soon as the two young men met, Arthur spoke—
“Rachel is treating you badly,” said he.