After dinner he went with Mr. Peele and Burr into the library. Patience was about to follow a party of young people down to the bluff, when Mr. Field drew her arm firmly through his.
“You are not going to desert your court?” he said. “Why, you don’t suppose I come up here to talk to Peele, do you? If you go out with those boys I’ll never come here again.” And he led her into the library.
It was nearly twelve o’clock when she found herself alone with Bourke. The others had gone out, one by one. She had made no attempt to follow them. She sat with defiant eyes and inward trepidation. Bourke regarded her with narrowed eyes and twitching nostrils.
“So you are married?” he said at last.
“Yes.”
“And you deliberately made a fool of me?”
“No—no—I did nothing deliberately that night—no—I acted on impulse. And all that I said was quite true. Of course I should have told you—”
“But it would have spoiled your comedy.”
“No—no—don’t think that. I see that I was dishonest—I am not making excuses—I never thought you’d become really interested—”
“I am not breaking my heart. Don’t let that worry you. The mere fact of your dishonesty is quite enough to break the spell—for you are not the woman I imagined you to be. I was merely worshipping an ideal for the hour. Do you love your husband?”