“I will go on there at once; she may be there. If she is not, Marcus Glen will be, and I will appeal to him, for I cannot bear this agony.”
It was a good resolve, one which she would have carried out; but just then she recoiled, and her heart began to beat painfully, while the blood forsook her cheeks.
Mr Montaigne had softly closed the door behind him, and was advancing towards her, with a smile upon his lip, and a peculiar look in his eyes, which made her tremble.
“What!” he said, “alone? This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“He knew I was alone,” thought Ruth, “and that is why he has come.”
He advanced towards her, and in spite of her determination to be firm, she took a step or two backwards before she held out her hand, and said with tolerable firmness:
“Lady Henry has gone out in the carriage.”
“And will not be back just yet,” he said with a smile. “Ah, well, it does not matter.”
He had taken her hand and pressed it firmly, retaining it in his, and before Ruth could realise it he had drawn her to him, and pressed his lips to hers.
“Mr Montaigne!” she cried, struggling to free herself. “This is an insult!”