“Marie!” he exclaimed.
“Hush! Don’t speak to me, for God’s sake!”
She said no more, but reeled, and would have fallen had he not caught her arm, and led her through the next opening and downstairs to the refreshment-room, quite empty at that early hour, the waiters not being ready for visitors.
There were a couple of the attendants at hand, ready to bring water and ice, and at the end of a few minutes Marie gazed wildly about her—starting violently, though, as she heard the deep voice at her side.
“That will do,” he said quietly. “A few minutes’ rest and she will be quite recovered.” Then they were alone, with Glen whispering to her eagerly, and she listening with her eyes half-closed and a strange dazed look in her pallid face.
“No, no!” she said at last feebly.
“You shall,” he cried, and his strong will prevailed over her more and more. “You must leave him, Marie. I do not ask it: I know you love me. You always have loved me. Come to me, my darling, or I must die.”
“Die!” she moaned. “No, no; not you. O God, forgive me! Would that I were dead!”
“Dead, when there is a life of happiness before us?” he whispered. “Marie dearest, at last! You understand?” he said, after whispering for some time.
“Yes, yes,” she said slowly; and he spoke again very quickly, but in low, distinct tones.