“I’m going to see Mr. Loring.”
The slightest possible smile touched the elder man’s lips, and he said:
“All right. I shall have something to say to Mr. Loring, too. But listen to me, first. Was it a desperate necessity to you to pull off this affair?”
Julian did not speak. His lips twitched for a moment, then settled into a thin line; and the look in his eyes was answer enough.
“Very good, then,” said Ramsay. “Come and see me here to-morrow at six. I may be able to give you a hand.”
With a gesture of uncomprehending assent, but with no word of answer, Julian turned away and left the room.
Three-quarters of an hour later he was coming rapidly down the staircase which led from Loring’s chambers. His face was flushed and quivering, and every pulse was beating madly, like the pulses of a man who has just given unrestrained expression to furious passion. He turned on to the Embankment, and began to walk away in a headlong fashion, evidently neither knowing nor caring where he was going.
And as he walked the tumultuous life and glow of his face died slowly out, and settled into a haggard, sullen mask of dull despair. He had spoken his mind to Loring, and now there was nothing more for him to do.