"As you like. At what time shall I call for you on Saturday?"
"Call for me? It is out of the question! I would not for the world let Mrs. Vandeleur know of your silly conduct!"
"Well, we'll keep her in the dark at present, if you wish it, although I would far rather go direct to her and tell her I fell in love with you at first sight. I feel sure she'd sympathise. I'll be waiting, then, just by the little gate that leads into the Gardens—the gate by which we came out last time. At two o'clock I will be there; and, if you are not there by the half-hour, I will go to the house and ask for you."
"This is persecution——"
"No—it is love! Lina, I hear footsteps on the stairs. There is no real barrier between us. In another moment we shall be interrupted. Kiss me, dear—just once first!"
"Mr. Armstrong, you are insulting!"
He bent his handsome, eager, dark face close down towards her own; and that ill-regulated little heart of hers began to tremble and flutter as though this man were not a heartless deceiver and an utterly worthless person.
After all he was her husband, and kissing one's husband is not considered a crime; added to which, she was almost afraid she loved him a little. Half insensibly her head inclined towards his, and in another moment their lips would have met, when Clare Cavan darted at astonishing speed into the room, and stood before them, wide-eyed and panting, her brilliant flesh-tints changed for a chalky pallor, and abject fear clearly marked in every line of her face.
"I've had a fright!" she faltered. "I—I wanted to have another look at these lovely sketches of yours, Mr. Armstrong; so I stole up-stairs to the top floor by myself, and—somehow I had forgotten—and I opened the wrong door!"