“That I should have been too late!” he gasped. “O God! Forgive me, Ursula, that I should have been too late!” The tears sprang forward as he looked at her, and rained down his cheeks.
“Don’t,” she said. “You hurt me.” She had never seen a man shed tears before. “Of course you were too late. How could you help it?”
He mastered himself with an effort. “How pale you are!” he said.
“Well, of course, it is hardly a pleasant experience. It was my own fault for encouraging conviviality. It is over now, Theodore. Be comforted; you could have done nothing had you been here.”
“I could at least have died first,” he muttered. And he went away without saying good-night.
When Hephzibah had carried the alarm to Freule Louisa, the latter had run screaming to the Dowager.
“And where is Ursula?” the old lady had asked, gasping and trembling.