"H lne," he said, "there's a man come in—a horrible man. He pushed by the servants. He's gone upstairs. I think—well, I think he's not himself. Do you want me to do anything?"
H lne was standing. At Lewis's first words she had flushed; then she turned pale, deathly pale, and steadied herself with one hand on the back of a chair. She put the other hand to the side of her head and pressed it there.
"That's it," she said; "he's—he's not himself." Then she faced Lewis.
"Lew, that's my—that's Lord Derl that you saw."
"H lne!" cried Lew, putting out quick hands toward her. "Oh, I'm sorry—I'm sorry I said that!"
His contrition was so deep, so true, that H lne smiled, to put him at his ease.
"It's all right, Lew; it's all right that you saw," she said evenly.
"Come here. Sit down here. Now, what have you got to tell me?"
Lewis was still frowning.
"It seemed," he said, "such a big thing. Now, somehow, it doesn't seem so big. I just wanted to tell you that Folly has come around at last. We're going to be married."
For a long moment there was silence, then H lne said: "You love her,
Lew? You're sure you love her?"
Lewis nodded his head vehemently.