“Dan, I really don’t care a pin for the money—I don’t”—but the hand she held out was seized by the other man and held fast. Galorey said:
“Very well, let it go at that. You don’t care for the money, but you will take it just the same. Now, don’t, for God’s sake, tell him that you care for him.”
He made her meet his eyes this time: stronger than she, Galorey forced her to be sincere. She set Dan free and he turned and left them standing there facing each other. He softly crossed the room, and looking back, he saw them, tall, distinguished, both of them under the lamplight—enemies, and yet the closest friends bound by the strongest tie in the world.
As Dan went out through the curtains of the room and they fell behind him, the Duchess of Breakwater sank down in the chair by the side of the table; she buried her face. Gordon Galorey bent over her and again took her in his arms, and she suffered it.
CHAPTER XX—A HAND CLASP
It was one o’clock. Blair called a hansom and told the driver to take him to the Carlton, and leaning back in the vehicle he breathed a long sigh. He looked like his father, but he didn’t know it. He felt old. He was a man and a tired one and a free one, and the sense of this liberty began to refresh him like a breeze over parched sand. He thought over what he had left for a second, stopped longest in pitying Galorey, then went into the Carlton restaurant to order some supper, for he began to feel the need of food. He had not time to drink his wine and partake of the cold pheasant before he saw that opposite him the two people who had taken their table were Letty Lane and Poniotowsky. The woman’s slender back was turned to Blair, and his heart gave a leap of pain at the sight of the man with her, and the cruel suffering began again.
Dan gave up the idea of eating: drank a whole bottle of champagne, then pushed it away from him violently. “Hold up,” he told himself, “you’re getting dangerous; this drinking won’t do.” So he sat drumming on the table looking into the air. When those two got up to go, however, he would go with them; that was sure. He could never see them go out together again; no—no—no! As his brain grew a bit clearer he saw that they were having a heated discussion between them, and as the room emptied finally, save for themselves, Dan, though he could not hear what Poniotowsky said, understood that he was urging something which the girl did not wish to grant. When they left he rose as well, and at the door of the restaurant the actress and her companion paused, and Dan saw her face, deadly pale. There were tears in her eyes.
“For God’s sake!” he heard her murmur, and she impatiently drew her cloak around her shoulders. Poniotowsky put out his hand to help her, but she drew back from him, exclaiming violently: “Oh, no—no!” Before he was aware what he was doing, Dan was holding his hand out to Miss Lane.
How she turned to him! God of dreams! How she took in one cold hand his hand; just the grasp a man needs to lead him to offer the service of his life. Her hand was icy—it thrilled him to his marrow.
“Oh—you—” she breathed. “Hello!”