He stood aside to let her pass; and she went out quickly, holding her head higher than usual.
He followed at a little distance, still perplexed and thoughtful, but refraining from the least attempt to account for her very unusual behaviour. What she did not choose to tell him he would not seek to know.
On the threshold of the drawing-room he paused.
His wife still stood where he had left her, disconsolately fingering her roses, her delicate face marred with weeping. Honor went to her straightway; and putting both arms round her kissed her with a passionate tenderness, intensified by a no less passionate self-reproach.
At the unnerving touch of sympathy Evelyn's grief broke out afresh.
"Oh, Honor—Honor, comfort me!" she sobbed, unaware of her husband's presence in the doorway. "You're the only one who really cares. And he is so—so pleased about it. That makes it worse than all!"
A spasm of pain crossed Desmond's face, and he turned sharply away.
"Poor little soul!" he reflected as he went; "shall I ever be able to make her understand?"