"Oh, we shall all be seasoned men. And after the first few days we shall get into the uplands."
"What do your home people say?" she asked him, rather shyly. She knew, in truth, little about them.
"My mother? Oh, she will be greatly pleased. I go down to the Isle of Wight for a day or two to see her to-morrow. But now, dear lady, that is enough of my wretched self. You--do you stay on here with the Duchess?"
She told him of the house in Heribert Street. He listened with attention.
"Nothing could be better. You will have a most distinguished little setting of your own, and Lady Henry will repent at leisure. You won't be lonely?"
"Oh no!" But her smile was linked with a sigh.
He came nearer to her.
"You should never be lonely if I could help it," he said, in a low voice.
"When people are nameless and kinless," was her passionate reply, in the same undertone as his, "they must be lonely."
He looked at her with eagerness. She lay back in the firelight, her beautiful brow and eyes softly illuminated. He felt within him a sudden snapping of restraints. Why--why refuse what was so clearly within his grasp? Love has many manners--many entrances--and many exits.