Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not cause him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot.
One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was why he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, “Thank God—thank God!”
He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card.
“I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord,” said Martin.
“The lady?”
Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come to him.
“Yes, my lord; Miss Craven,” said Martin, handing him the card. “But she said that perhaps you would see her.”
“Only for a minute,” were the words written in pencil on Miss Craven’s card.
“Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven,” said Harold.
“Very good, my lord.”