"Very well," Katherine said mechanically.
"Later I shall go on to Baden-Baden."
Katharine rallied somewhat.
"Helen de Vallorbes is there," she said, not without a trace of her former pride.
"Certainly Helen de Vallorbes is there," he answered. "That is why I go. I want to see her. It is inconsistent, I admit, for Helen remains the one person gloriously untouched by the wreck of the former order of things. Pray let there be no misconception on that point. She belonged to the ideal order, she belongs to it still."
"Ah, my dear, my dear!" Katharine almost cried. His perversity hurt her a little too much so that the small, upspringing flame of decent pride was quenched.
"Yes," he went on, "there was my initial, my cardinal, mistake. For I was a traitor to all that was noblest and best in me, when I persuaded myself, and weakly permitted you to persuade me, that a loveless marriage is better than a love in which marriage is impossible,—that Lady Constance Quayle, poor little soul, bought, paid for, and my admitted property, could fill Helen's place,—though Helen was—and I intend her to remain so, for I care for her enough to hold her honour as sacred as I do your own—forever inaccessible."
Lady Calmady staggered to her feet.
"That is enough, Richard," she said. "That is enough. If you have more to say, in pity leave it until to-morrow."
The young man looked at her strangely.