She looked again, confusedly, at the big, strong, calm man; and something that had been growing in her heart for months took shape and form.
What did the other women matter? He was hers—hers—hers. Why stop to question or demur? What did anything matter but that he had loved her so long and faithfully; and that at last she loved him?
In a stress of unendurable emotion, she got up unsteadily, and left the court.
A quarter of an hour later, Alymer finished his speech, and sat down instantly turning his head to look for her. Instead of the familiar, eager face of the first hour, he saw the empty space, and his overwrought mind sank to a dull level of bitter disappointment.
She was not impressed, then—not even interested enough to stay until the end. Oh, what did it matter? She was hard—hard, he was a fool to love her so.
The jury went away and came back with their verdict of “Not guilty.”
There was a rush and buzz of congratulations. He smiled, because he had to smile, and grasped outstretched hands because he had to grasp them. The moment it was possible to get away, he walked blindly and hurriedly to the entrance, and got into a taxi, before the waiting crowd had had time to recognise him.
“Where to?” a policeman asked him, and for a moment he was at a loss to know. Then he gave Hal’s address. “Better have it out and done with,” was his thought. Once for all he would make her tell him if it was hopeless, and if she said yes, he would go away and try to forget her in another country.
When he was shown into Hal’s little sitting-room, he found her crouching on a footstool in the firelight, before the fire. He stood a moment or two and looked at her, and then he said in a slightly harsh voice:
Hal did not look round. She was staring into the flames, with her chin resting in her hands. When he paused she said calmly: