“Do not cry, darling,” said Vivienne, kissing her impulsively. “I will do as you wish,” and she knocked at the door.
“They do not hear you,” said Judy, turning the handle; “go in and do what you can,” and she ushered her champion into the room.
A very quiet and unobtrusive champion she had introduced, who stopped short in acute distress. Armour was standing with his back to the door, yet Vivienne could see that he was in one of the terrible rages of which Judy had told her. Mrs. Colonibel sat at a table, staring with wide-open, glassy eyes at some account books before her.
“Speak for me, Miss Delavigne,” she said with a gasp of relief. “I have offended Stanton mortally. You can feel for me on account of your father.”
Armour turned on his heel and his face underwent an immediate change; Vivienne stretched out her hand to him. Though he were a prey to ten-fold more evil passions than the ones which possessed him, he yet was the man that she loved. He took her hand silently, then he said sternly to his cousin: “Go; you make me forget you are a woman. Let me be rid of you to-night. I hope that I shall never see your face again.”
Mrs. Colonibel burst into a violent fit of weeping. “Oh, Stanton, give me a little chance,” she sobbed; “a month longer, even a week, to prepare for this. You will ruin my prospects.”
“You have heard what I said,” he replied, walking away from her to a window. “You can’t change my resolve.”
“Intercede for me,” whispered Mrs. Colonibel as she passed Vivienne; “he will listen to you.”
Armour stood with his hands behind his back till the door closed. Then he looked around to see if he were alone.
Vivienne still remained—sorrowful, grieving, and saying not a word.