“To-night,” he said, resolutely. “I will send her away to-night.”
“Then,” said Vivienne, “my answer is ‘yes.’ Come for me when you will.”
She looked into his eyes with a sweet, sincere light in her own. Hartley could scarcely believe that her surrender was true, it was so swift and complete.
“Promise me,” he said feelingly, “on your word and honour.”
“On my word and honour,” repeated Vivienne, softly.
At the door he turned and gazed at her happily, but yet as one who scarcely trusts the foundations of his joy.
“To-morrow,” he said, with a forefinger of reminder uplifted.
“To-morrow,” she repeated with a smile of truth and candour.
In an hour and forty minutes Hartley stepped off the train at Floralhurst. A brisk walk of ten minutes brought him to the gate of a handsome two-story cottage set upon a wide and well-tended lawn. Halfway to the house he was met by a woman with jet-black braided hair and flowing white summer gown, who half strangled him without apparent cause.
When they stepped into the hall she said: