“You would have stopped it if you could,” said Desiree; and he did not deny it.
“It was some instinct,” he said at length. “Some passing misgiving.”
“For Charles?” she asked sharply.
And D'Arragon, looking out of the window, would not answer. She gave a sudden laugh.
“One cannot compliment you on your politeness,” she said. “Was it for Charles that you had misgivings?”
At last D'Arragon turned on his heel.
“Does it matter?” he asked. “Since I came too late.”
“That is true,” she said, after a pause. “You came too late; so it doesn't matter. And the thing is done now, and I..., well, I suppose I must do what others have done before me—I must make the best of it.”
“I will help you,” said D'Arragon slowly, almost carefully, “if I can.”
He was still avoiding her eyes, still looking out of the window. Sebastian was coming up the steps.