Marius slowly closed the door, replaced the key in his pocket and flung off his domino. The wide hall was lit by one lamp that cast a pale glow and heavy shadows. Miss Chressham stood still a moment, gazing before her in an absorbed fashion.
"Can I speak to you a while?" asked Marius on a rebellious breath.
She forced herself to listen, to comprehend.
"Of course," she thrust aside her thoughts. "It must be still early—maybe my lady is up. Let us go into the withdrawing-room."
They discovered that it was not yet midnight, but the Countess Agatha was in bed, and Susannah's woman in charge. Miss Chressham ordered candles beyond the few left burning, and wine and cakes.
"I tasted nothing at the mask," she said, smiling to cover her distraction, "and I vow I am quite hungry."
Marius, struggling with some deep and tumultuous feeling, heeded nothing, but paced to and fro the gay and beautiful chamber until the servant had left them.
The window stood open on the mute city and winking stars, a beau-pot of white roses on the work-table gave forth a lingering and exquisite perfume; Miss Chressham, near as pale as they, and drooping, as if with fatigue, had seated herself on a low brocade settee; her rich and glittering hair rolled in full curls over her dark domino, rounded throat and turquoise gown; beside her lay her mask and her fan.
"What did you wish to say, Marius?" she asked.