“Yes,” he returned shortly. “May I come in?”
Without waiting for an answer he closed the door behind him, letting the curtain fall back into its place, and crossed the room to her side.
Jean felt her heart contract as her eyes marked the changes wrought in him by the few weeks which had elapsed since she had seen him. His face was haggard as though from lack of sleep, and the lines on either side the mouth were scored deep into the flesh. The mouth itself closed in a tense line of savage misery and the stark bitterness of his eyes filled her with grief and pity, knowing how utterly powerless she was to help or comfort him.
Distrusting her self-control, she snatched at the first conventional remark that suggested itself.
“I thought—I thought you and Nesta were both dining at the Dower House,” she said confusedly.
“Nesta is there. I made an excuse. I came here instead.”
Something in the curt, clipped sentences sounded a note of warning in her ears.
“But you ought not to have come here,” she replied quickly—defensively almost. “Why have you come, Blaise?”
“I came,” he said slowly, “because I can’t bear my life without you a day longer. Because—— Oh, Jean! Jean!... Beloved! Do you need to ask me why I came?”
With a swift, irresistible movement he swept her up into his arms, holding her crushed against his breast, his mouth on hers, kissing her as a man kisses when love that has been long thwarted and denied at last bursts asunder the shackles which constrained it.