Anthony rose. “Forgive me. It seems my fate always to be rude to you. And you’re quite right.” He moved towards the door.
She followed him. With his fingers on the handle, he paused. “Damn it!” he thought. “She’s hard enough to resist when one’s in full command of oneself. But now! Oh, Jupiter, aid me!”
He prepared to make his adieux. She touched him on the arm.
“One more question before you go.” She smiled at him, and Anthony caught his breath. “Was I—am I—oh! I mean, is my evidence part of your case? You know, about my being outside the window that night—what I saw——”
“Two of my main objects,” Anthony said, “have been to get Deacon off and to keep you and your brother out. I think I’ve done both. I thought at one time that I couldn’t round off the business without dragging you in. But the gods were good and dropped into my hands a little man who knew as much and a deal more than you. I exulted. I still exult. Like Stalky, I gloat!” He thumped his chest with an air. “I know everything; but I shan’t tell. I know so much that I could tell you almost to a minute what time it was when you looked through the window of Hoode’s study—and that’s more than you know yourself. But I won’t tell. Your secret, lady, is safe with me!”
She laughed; but there was something more than laughter in the sound.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that you are a very perfect—Fairy Godmother! And now you must go, or you’ll have pneumonia. And if you did you might never hear those thanks I’m going to give you”—she smiled, and he saw with wonder that the dark eyes were glistening with tears—“after I’ve apologised for behaving as I did the other night.” She paused; then burst out: “And, please, will you shake hands?”
Anthony looked at the white fingers held out towards him. The last shreds of self-control went flying.
“No, by God, I won’t!” he shouted.
Lucia, amazed, was caught in long arms. Kisses were rained upon her mouth, her eyes, her hair, her throat. She strove with hands against his chest.