"My dear child!" exclaimed the elder lady reproachfully.
She was grasping Mark's hands in welcome. Her face was flushed; her dark hair, disturbed by the pace at which she had ridden, hung low upon her forehead; he had never seen her so beautiful—nor so happy. His face was pale, his hands cold in hers.
"Dear Aunt," she said, "I felt as though I must gallop; I didn't mean to in the High Street; I couldn't hold him."
"He was homeward bound," said Mark, turning to look at the horse, now being led away by Miss Achsah's "man." "He's a handsome beast."
"I have much to ask you about the Marquise," said Natalie to Mark, as they went into the house, whereupon Miss Claghorn left them.
The short-lived bloom of her face was gone; she was deadly pale. She stretched her ungloved hands toward him; it might have been a gesture of appeal. He dared not take them in his own; his longing to clasp her to his heart was too great to risk the contact. She dropped her arms.
"You wished to see me—to ask me——" He paused; his voice sounded stern in his ears, but he had no power over it.
"To—to say something. Give me a moment."
As she turned toward the window he caught a glimpse of the sheen of tears. A mighty impulse raised his arms as though to clasp her; then they fell.
"What fates impose, that man must need abide."