There was a feeble attempt on the part of Angela to start a conversation with some semblance of animation over the coffee cups in the library afterward, but finally even she surrendered as one by one they made excuses of weariness, the early train or no excuse at all and drifted away.
Ruth watched for Pendragon’s going and followed him. He made his way to the enclosed veranda. She stood a moment looking through the glass door, watching him as he paced up and down, smoking a pipe. What she was going to do required courage; she might only meet with the cold rebuff that is due to meddlesome persons, but Gloria’s happiness was at stake and she could only fail, so she walked timidly out to him.
She waited patiently until he turned and faced her. She thought she saw a look of disappointment cross his face when he saw who had interrupted his solitude. That look, fancied or real, encouraged her to go on.
“I wanted to thank you for doing what you did—for not giving up, and to tell you how happy I am that you’re well again,” she began.
“Yes—I am well again—I walk and eat and sleep and wake again—I am alive.”
“And I wanted to ask you if you’re going to stop now— You’ve saved Gloria from George and from the Prince—are you going to let her go away now that you have accomplished so much?”
“My dear child, I can’t kidnap Gloria—she’s not the sort of woman one kidnaps—not even the sort one woos and wins. She is the other sort—the only sort worth while I think—the princess who calls her own swayamvara, and makes her own choice.”
“But she did choose.”
“She has chosen too often.”
“Do you mean that even if Gloria still loved you you would not marry her just because she has—because she has—”