"May I speak to you, Mr. Helbeck?"
He flung down his pipe and approached her. She stood a little above him on one of the lower steps; and instantly he felt that she came in gentleness.
An agitation he could barely control took possession of him. All day long he had been scourging himself for the incident of the night before. They had not met since. He looked at her now humbly—with a deep sadness—and waited for what she had to say.
"Shall we go into the drawing-room? Is there a light?"
"We will take one."
He lifted a lamp, and she led the way. Without another word, she opened the door into the deserted room. Nobody had entered it since the orphanage function, when some extra service had been hastily brought in to make the house habitable. The mass of the furniture was gathered into the centre of the carpet, with a few tattered sheets flung across it. The gap made by the lost Romney spoke from the wall, and the windows stood uncurtained to the night.
Laura, however, found a chair and sank into it. He put down the lamp, and stood expectant.
They were almost in their old positions. How to find strength and voice!
That room breathed memories.
When she did speak, however, her intonation was peculiarly firm and clear.
"You gave me a rebuke last night, Mr. Helbeck—and I deserved it!"