Betty walked past them and out into the anteroom, where she met Lord Savile leaning on Mr. Benham’s arm. His neck was bound up and swathed in lace, and one arm was in a sling. He bowed low with a white face and languishing eyes.
“Here’s a brave fellow half killed for love of you, my lady,” said Mr. Benham, with gallantry.
Betty halted; tall and straight as an arrow, her eyes sparkling. No one anticipated the lightning.
Savile smiled. “Dear Lady Clancarty,” he said, in a weak voice, “I am your humblest servant.”
“You are a murderer, sir,” she replied, in a terrible tone; “let me never see your face again.”
And she swept on and left them standing there in blank amazement.
In her own room she fell on Alice’s neck in a passion of tears.
“O Alice, Alice!” she cried, “I have driven him to his death.”
And Alice—who had heard all that evening, in the agony of her ladyship’s first grief and terror—Alice clasped her close, forgetting the great distance between them and remembering only her devotion to this beautiful and wilful creature.
“I did not know you cared so much,” she said, “I never thought that he might be Lord Clancarty.”