“You made a very pretty confession to me a few days ago, my Clare.”
“A confession?”
“On the day you were visited by your friend, Signor Rodani.
“Oh!”
The girl's face had become rosy in a moment. “Does your heart remain faithful? You do not think you are likely to change?”
“Oh, never, never!” cried Clare. “I may be foolish, but if so, I must remain foolish. Ah, my dear Agnes, my confession was forced from me—I spoke on the impulse of the moment; but I was not the less certain of myself.”
“I think you are a girl to be depended on,” said Agnes. “You are not one of those whose fancies change with every new face that comes before them. Good-night, my dear child.”
She was now assured of his punishment. As she thought of the way he had come to her, smiling as he repeated that phrase which he had invented—it had become quite a favorite phrase with him—that about the Statute of Limitations in affairs of love, she felt that no punishment could be too great for him. He had talked of Fate in extenuation of his faithlessness. She had heard of people throwing all the blame that was due to themselves upon Fate. When a pretty face comes between a man and his duty he calls it Fate and yields without a struggle.
Well, he would soon find out that Fate had not yet done with him.
Two days later Clare got a letter from him asking her if she would see him immediately after lunch. He had got some technical instructions to give to her from the publishers; but he had been so closely occupied with his secretaries, he had not been able to call at The Knoll the previous day.