"No, child. A man can't have two lode-stars. I came straight from Zanzibar to this house. I came home to you, Suzette."
"But you will go to the Manor directly? Your poor mother has been so miserable about you. Don't lose a minute in making her happy."
"Lose! These minutes are gold; the most precious minutes of my life. Oh, Suzette, how cruel you were! Why did you drive me from you?"
She was in his arms again, held closely in those wasted arms, caught in the coils of that passionate love, she scarcely knew how. He was taking everything for granted; and she knew not how to resist him. She had no argument to offer against that triumphant love.
"Cruel, cruel, cruel Suzette! Two years of exile—two wasted lonely years—years of fond longing and looking back! Why did you send me away? No, I won't ask. It was all in honour, all in honour. My dearest is made up of honourable scruples, and delicate sympathies, which this rough nature of mine can't understand. But you loved me, Suzette. You loved me from the first, as I loved you. Our hearts went out to meet each other over the bridge of my violin—flew out to each other in a burst of melody. And we will go on loving each other till the last breath—the last faint glimmer of life's brief candle. Ah, love, forgive me if I rave. I am beside myself with joy."
"I think you are a little out of your mind," she faltered.
She let him rave. She accepted the situation. Ah, surely, surely it was this man she loved. It was this eager spirit which had passed like a breath of fire between her and Allan; this masterful nature which had possessed itself of her heart, as of a mere chattel that must needs be the prize of the strongest. She submitted to the tyranny of a love which would not accept defeat; and presently they sat down side by side in the soft lamplight, close to the piano which she loved only a little less than if it were human. They sat down side by side, his arm still round the slim waist, plighted lovers.
"Poor Allan!" she sighed, with a remorseful pang. "Has he gone down to Suffolk?"
"To Suffolk? He is on the Congo—past Stanley Falls, I hope, by this time."
"On the Congo! You have left him! Quite alone! Oh, Geoffrey, how could you?"