"Everything shall be as it was before," he answered, and kissed her lips—not such kisses as he had given Precious just now, but a light caress, one that she knew was a duty kiss.
A bitter sigh burst from her lips, and she felt for a moment as if she would like to fall down dead at his feet in her shame and humiliation over the poor victory she had won.
But he was speaking again, gravely, quietly:
"Let me take you to the house, Ethel, for I must leave you very soon. I must go back to Washington to-night."
"But why so soon?" she pouted, and he answered:
"I had letters from England to-day, calling me home at once. There is something gravely wrong, but neither the lawyer nor my father, the earl, gave me any particulars, only they said I must come as soon as possible."
He paused, touched by the gasping sob on her lips.
"Do not take it so hard, Ethel, dear. I will write often, and return long before the date of our marriage this winter. Meanwhile I will be making soft my English nest for my beautiful bride. But I am very curious over the matter that has called me home, and I shall be in New York to-morrow, and sail on the first ship."