CHAPTER XLIV
In Alymer’s room at the Middle Temple he and Hal were making their arrangements to catch the next boat.
The moment he had spoken his decision she had turned to him with a swift expression of approval, but, for the rest, her manner was somewhat curt and business-like, and showed little of the old friendliness.
It made him feel that, as far as she was concerned, he had sinned past forgiveness; and he knew with that unerring instinct that sometimes illumines a wrong action, that she judged him harshly because she knew he had not loved Lorraine with all his strength. How then could he ever hope to tell her that one reason he had not loved Lorraine thus was because, unconsciously, another woman had won his heart; further, that that other woman was herself?
No; of course the day would never dawn when he would dare to tell her that. An eternity separated them.
But he tried not to think of it now; to remember only that Lorraine, his best friend and his benefactress, was dying, and that she had sent Hal to fetch him to her side.
His face was very grave, and he looked white and ill as Hal explained what time he must meet her at the station, but he gave no sign of flinching; no triumph in the world could now weaken his resolution.
“Very well, that is all arranged,” said Hal, and at that moment there was a knock at the door. Alymer crossed the room and opened it himself, and was handed a telegram. He read it, looked for a moment as if he could not grasp it, then, telling the bearer there was no reply, closed the door, went back to Hal, and handed it to her without a word.
Hal read, half aloud:
“Marked change for the better. No need for haste. Come in a few days.—LORRAINE.”