“Not once?”
“No.”
“Ah, well, I suppose he would not come. He felt that I was not his wife, and he was glad to cut himself clear from such an unhappy family. Has Sir Harry sent?”
“May! dear May!”
“I only wanted to know, Claire,” said May quietly. “Don’t be angry with me, dear. It’s all over now. Is he better?”
“I believe so. He has gone away.”
“Thank God!” said May fervently.
Claire turned upon her with wondering eyes.
“Yes,” she said again. “Thank God! I should not have liked to see him again, nor to know that he had been to ask for me. I am so weak, Claire. I always—I was so different to you.”
Claire sighed, and bent down and kissed the white forehead, beneath which the large eyes look unnaturally bright.