Constance nodded.
“He did it for you,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “He said you were the best pupil he ever had.”
The door opened, and Mrs. Mulholland’s white head appeared, with Falloden and Sorell behind.
“Otto!” said Mrs. Mulholland, softly.
He understood that she called him, and he went with her in bewilderment, along the passage to the studio.
Falloden came into the sitting-room and shut the door.
“Did he like it?” he asked, in a low voice, in which there was neither pleasure nor triumph.
Connie, who was still sitting on the stool by the fire with her face turned away, looked up.
“Oh, yes, yes!” she said in a kind of desperation, wringing her hands; “but why are some pleasures worse than pain—much worse?”
Falloden came up to her, and stood silently, his eyes on hers.