“Yes; I insist. You cannot forgive me now.”
She could bear no more. Her chin sank upon her breast, and with one low, heart-wrung sigh, she went quickly from the room.
“Thank Heaven! that’s over,” muttered Armstrong. “Now for the end, and the quicker the better. Life is not worth living, after all.”
He looked sharply round to where Keren-Happuch stood, wiping her eyes upon her apron.
“Here, girl!” he cried.
“Yes, Mr Dale, sir.”
“Go at once to Mr Leronde’s rooms—you know—in Poland Street, and ask him to come on here at once.”
“But are you fit to leave, sir?”
“Yes, yes. Go quickly.”
The girl hurried off on her mission, leaving the artist thinking.