Meanwhile the division took place, and presently the members flocked back, and amidst ringing Ministerial cheers, and counter Opposition cheers, the victory of the Government was announced. Then came the usual formalities, and the members began to melt away. Beatrice saw the leader of the House and several members of the Government go up to Geoffrey, shake his hand, and congratulate him. Then, with one long look, she turned and went, leaving him in the moment of his triumph, that seemed to interest him so little, but which made Beatrice more proud at heart than if she had been declared empress of the world.
Oh, it was well to love a man like that, a man born to tower over his fellow men—and well to die for him! Could she let her miserable existence interfere with such a life as his should be? Never, never! There should be no “public scandal” on her account.
She drew her veil over her face, and inquired the way from the House. Presently she was outside. By one of the gateways, and in the shadow of its pillars, she stopped, watching the members of the House stream past her. Many of them were talking together, and once or twice she caught the sound of Geoffrey’s name, coupled with such words as “splendid speech,” and other terms of admiration.
“Move on, move on,” said a policeman to her. Lifting her veil, Beatrice turned and looked at him, and muttering something he moved on himself, leaving her in peace. Presently she saw Geoffrey and the gentleman who had been so kind to her walking along together. They came through the gateway; the lappet of his coat brushed her arm, and he never saw her. Closer she crouched against the pillar, hiding herself in its shadow. Within six feet of her Geoffrey stopped and lit a cigar. The light of the match flared upon his face, that dark, strong face she loved so well. How tired he looked. A great longing took possession of her to step forward and speak to him, but she restrained herself almost by force.
Her friend was speaking to him, and about her.
“Such a lovely woman,” he was saying, “with the clearest and most beautiful grey eyes that I ever saw. But she has gone like a dream. I can’t find her anywhere. It is a most mysterious business.”
“You are falling in love, Tom,” answered Geoffrey absently, as he threw away the match and walked on. “Don’t do that; it is an unhappy thing to do,” and he sighed.
He was going! Oh, heaven! she would never, never see him more! A cold horror seized upon Beatrice, her blood seemed to stagnate. She trembled so much that she could scarcely stand. Leaning forward, she looked after him, with such a face of woe that even the policeman, who had repented him of his forbearance, and was returning to send her away, stood astonished. The two men had gone about ten yards, when something induced Beatrice’s friend to look back. His eye fell upon the white, agony-stricken face, now in the full glare of the gas lamp.
Beatrice saw him turn, and understood her danger. “Oh, good-bye, Geoffrey!” she murmured, for a second allowing her heart to go forth towards him. Then realising what she had done, she dropped her veil, and went swiftly. The gentleman called “Tom”—she never learnt his name—stood for a moment dumbfounded, and at that instant Geoffrey staggered, as though he had been struck by a shot, turned quite white, and halted.
“Why,” said his companion, “there is that lady again; we must have passed quite close to her. She was looking after us, I saw her face in the gaslight—and I never want to see such another.”