"I see." Suddenly the resentment which Cheniston had felt for this man since their first meeting flamed into active hatred. "Well, I have your word, and that's enough. As you say, this is a business transaction, and the less said the better. Good night."
He turned abruptly away and plunged through the shadowy room towards the door. As he reached it, Anstice spoke again.
"Cheniston." There was a note in his voice which no other man of Anstice's acquaintance had ever heard. "In proposing this bargain, this payment of a debt, I think you show yourself a hard and a pitiless creditor. But if, in these circumstances, you fail to win Miss Wayne, I shall think you are a fool—a damned fool—as well. That's all. Good night."
Without, another word Cheniston opened the door and went out, letting it fall to behind him with a bang. And Anstice, left alone, extinguished both candles impatiently, as though he could not bear even their feeble light; and going to the open window stood gazing out over the starlit garden with eyes which saw nothing of the green peacefulness without.
And on the table, the big brown moth, scorched to death by his adored flame in the very moment of his most passionate delight, fluttered his burnt wings feebly and lay still.
CHAPTER X
Having given Cheniston his word, Anstice set himself to carry out his share of the bargain with a thoroughness which did not preclude a very bitter regret that he had made this fatal promise.
As he had been of late in the habit of spending a good deal of time in the society of Iris Wayne, it was only natural that his absence should cause comment at Greengates; but while Lady Laura openly labelled Anstice as capricious and inclined to rate his own value too highly, Sir Richard more charitably supposed that the poor fellow was overworked; and Iris, after a day or two spent in futile conjecture as to the sudden cessation of his visits, accepted the fact of Anstice's defection with a composure which was a little hurt.
She had thought they were such friends. Once or twice she had even fancied he was beginning to like her—even to herself Iris would not admit the possibility of any return of liking on her side; and on the occasion of their meeting in the wayside cottage, when he had bandaged her wrist, he had spoken to her in a more confidential, more really intimate manner than he had ever before displayed.