Gaveston was left alone.
With a wry smile he looked round the dishevelled room. Yes, it was over. A phase had been accomplished. It had all been marvellous beyond words, rich beyond dreams, but still … but still.… Something had always seemed missing from all the mysticism and all the revelry.… Oh, if only David had been there to share it all!
The room was growing darker now. One by one the nightlights were guttering wearily out in the crême de menthe and the advokaat, and St. Symphorosa herself could hardly be distinguished from Astarte. The scent of bergamot was grown a little musty, and the divans were sprinkled with spilt cocaine and melting caramels.
“Now it must end,” he said firmly. Brusquely he pulled aside the heavy curtains and flung open the long-rusted windows. For a moment he gazed out across the quadrangle to where a fretted pinnacle was balancing a stripling moon. Then he turned to his door.
“Perkins!” he cried down to the scout’s pantry. “Perkins! Come up and pack my things at once. I go down to-night.”
It was a day early.
But nothing could surprise Perkins now.