At the sound of his voice she came slowly into the room and closed the door behind her, outlining the slender grace of her somberly clad figure, the delicate pallor of her face under her black hat. She seemed to hesitate, and lifted her eyes slowly, almost reluctantly, to his.
He did not speak, and she clasped her trembling hands against her breast, her eyes holding his, though tears trembled on the lashes.
“Arthur,” she began slowly, her tone almost inaudible—“Arthur, I’ve come back to you. I’ve come back to you to stay, if—if you want me!”
He answered her with a sound that was almost like a sob, broken and inarticulate, and sank into a chair, covering his face with his hands.
She stood looking at him, startled, amazed; then she saw that his whole frame was shaken by his emotion, that he was trembling like a grief-stricken child, speechless with tears of relief. She went slowly across the room, and, kneeling beside his chair, put her arms around him and lifted her pale face to his.
XXXVI
The judge looked up heavily from his desk, his glance taking in the faces of both his guests—the men he had summoned to hear his news.
“Diane has left me—broken with me forever,” he announced sternly. “Last night she went back to Faunce.”
Unconsciously the little dean glanced at Overton’s pale profile, outlined cameo-like against the dark hangings behind him; but he answered Herford:
“You mean she’s gone back to her husband? And she’s right, too!”