When he had fainted on the night before he had been carried into Aubrey Flood's dressing-room, and speedily recovered consciousness.
His swoon was nothing more than a natural protest of the nerves against an overwhelming strain. It could hardly have been otherwise. One does not undergo weeks of mental strain and dismay without overtaxing the strength. One does not go through a night in which conviction of truth comes to one, the knowledge of love, the certainty that, in honour, that love could never be declared, the solemn and public renunciation of almost everything is realised and declared, without collapse.
He had found Mrs. Rose and Mary Marriott—ministering angels—by his side when he came back to the world.
Rose had entered, and would not hear of the duke's return to the Ritz. A messenger had been sent home for his things, and now he woke in the old familiar room upon this grey, depressing morning.
He was feeling the inevitable reaction. He could not help but feel it. It was eight o'clock he saw from his watch, the same watch which had been taken from him by force on the night of the railway accident.
The morning papers were out. One of these papers he knew would be even now having a record sale. The Daily Wire was having a huge boom. The general public were already learning of his renunciation. Before mid-day all society would know of it also. His hundreds of relations and connections would be reading the story. It would be known at Buckingham Palace and at Marlborough House. Lord Camborne would know of it, the news would reach Lord Hayle on his sick-bed at Oxford. Lady Constance would know it.
Before lunch he had to go to Grosvenor Street He must keep his appointment with his future father-in-law.
And he was fearing this interview as he had never feared anything in this world before. What was going to happen he didn't know. But he was certain that the meeting would be terrible. He felt frightfully alone, and there was only one little gleam of satisfaction in the outlook. Constance would stand by him. The beautiful girl who was to be his wife had often expressed her sympathy with the down-trodden and the poor. He could rely on her at least.
He did not love her. He could never love her. He loved some one else with all his heart and soul, and believed—dared to believe—that she loved him also.