When Jaquelina was leaving, almost an hour later, she found Ronald Valchester waiting on the pavement to hand her to her carriage.
When she was seated, he held her hand a moment in his own and bent forward to speak to her.
"Lina," he said, hurriedly, "I meant to go south to-day as you wish me, but that will be impossible now. I cannot desert Walter. He is my dearest friend, and when I was wounded three years ago he nursed me like a brother. Can you endure my presence a little longer?"
"I must bear it—as I have done many things," she said, with her white hand on her heart. "You must not forsake your friend."
Then she lifted her haunting, dark eyes to his face.
"Ronald, you are not angry with me," she said, wistfully. "Walter has loved me through long years. And I could never be yours, you know."
He shook his head with white, pain-drawn lips.
"And Violet?" she said to him, questioningly.
"I spoke to her—a little while ago," he said. "It was only because you wished it, Lina. She will be my wife."
He felt, rather than saw the shiver that ran over the slender form of the prima donna.