"You may be satisfied, I think," she says, simply. "You have had your revenge; I have been punished almost enough."
Revenge is sweet, they say; but at this moment I do not think that St. John finds it so.
"You did not know that I was here?" she asks, presently.
"Know it!" he repeats, passionately. "Not I. Do you suppose I would have come within a hundred miles of this house if I had known it?"
"I will try to keep out of your way," she answers, meekly.
"For God's sake, do! It is the most merciful thing that you can do for both of us."
"I would leave this place to-day, if I could," she answers, humbly raising her wistful, deprecating eyes to his; "but I cannot. My daily bread is here—yours is not. Why cannot you go?"
He hesitates. "I ought, I suppose," he answers, doubtfully. "I will, if you wish it."
"It is as you wish," she replies.
Footmen are passing to and fro, through the hall, busy with preparations for dinner; any moment Mr. Gerard's blue-and-white angel may come sweeping downstairs and surprise them.