"But—but—"'
"Yes, I know what you would say," she interposed, with a proud little gesture; "nevertheless, I claim the matron's title, and 'Stewart' was my mother's maiden name," and she was about to pass on again.
"Stay!" said the man, nervously. "I—I must see you again—I must talk further with you."
"Very well," the lady coldly returned, "and I also have some things which I wish to say to you. I shall be at the Copley Square Hotel on Thursday afternoon. I will see you as early as you choose to call."
Then, with an air of grave dignity, she passed on, and down the stairs, without casting one backward glance at him.
The man leaned over the balustrade and watched her.
She moved like a queen.
In the hall below she was joined by her attendant, whom she welcomed with a ravishing smile, and the next moment they had passed out of the house together.
"Heavens! and I deserted that glorious woman for—a virago!" Gerald Goddard muttered, hoarsely, as he strode, white and wretched, to his room.