George Clarendon remained impassive. False or true, the girl’s words were alluring.
If she were still loyal to Palermo, her suggestion was a snare. If she sincerely meant what she said — and there was no deceit in her voice — George Clarendon might find great happiness.
But the result would be the same. Should the man desert duty for love, Palermo would be freed of the menace which now enveloped him.
“I am willing to forget the past,” said the man. The girl seemed to thrill at his words. “Yes. I am willing to forget the past — later. At present I have work to do. Then, Thelda, we shall be free.”
“No, George!” exclaimed the girl. She met Clarendon’s gaze with eyes that were filled with apprehension.
“We must not wait! We cannot tell what may happen to prevent our love.”
“We must!”
“No.” The girl became suddenly sentimental. “We love each other. We must act. Now.”
She placed her hands upon Clarendon’s as she leaned across the narrow table. Clarendon, too, leaned forward. The girl’s arms were upon his shoulders. Their lips met in a long kiss.
The soft lights of the room; the distant melody of the orchestra; the gentle breeze from the archway — all were forgotten in the happiness of the moment.