"She's a great lady, Tony. What breeding and race! And she's not what the books call 'indifferent' to you."
"Go to the devil, Dearborn!"
Dearborn went to work instead, not to lose the inspiration of the lovely woman. He began a new scene, and dressed his character in dove grey with silver fox at her throat.
CHAPTER XVI
Fairfax, at the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, found instead of the entrance he had expected, a note for him.
"I cannot see you to-night. Be generous,—understand me. Mr. Cedersholm leaves for Russia to-morrow, he has asked me as a last favour to let him see me. I have done him so much wrong that I cannot refuse him. Come early to-morrow morning, and we will walk in the Bois together.
"I am yours,
"Mary."
He read the letter before the footman, and the "yours, Mary" made his heart bound and his throat contract. He walked toward the Champs Elysées slowly, thinking. Cedersholm sailed to-morrow, away from France. He was sent away beaten, bruised, conquered. He must have loved her. No man could help it. Was this the beginning of Fairfax's triumph? Well, he could not help it—he was glad. Cedersholm had stolen his fire, the labour of his youth, and now he would not have been human if there had not been a thrill through him that the conqueror knows. He could spare him this farewell evening with the woman who signed herself "I am yours, Mary."
"Vade in Pace," he murmured.