He looks at her in silence for a moment, and under the strong magnetism of his glance, her eyes turn from the scene without and meet his own.
"I think you should know," he says, very softly.
There comes the sound of a rustling skirt, a closing door. Lady Etwynde has left the inner room; they are alone. In an instant he is kneeling by the low chair on which she sits. Her hands are clasped in his.
"Oh, Lorry, Lorry!" he cries; "it is so hard!"
The passionate plaint thrills to her very heart. She lays her hands on either shoulder, and looks down into the pain-filled depths of the blue eyes.
"I know it, dear," she says, very gently. "Is it not hard for me too?"
"You are so cold, so different, and then you have your home, your husband, your——. Oh, forgive me, darling! How could I be so thoughtless?"
He sees the spasm of pain on the white face, the sudden quiver of the soft red lips.
"I—I have nothing now!" she groans, despairingly, and her two hands go up to hide her face. A storm of passionate weeping shakes her from head to foot. Keith is alarmed, distressed, but he is wise enough to rise and stand quietly by. He attempts no consolation.
The storm abates at last. Those tears have done Lauraine good. She has been cold and hard in her grief for so long a time. She also rises, a little ashamed, a little confused. "Let us go out on the balcony," she says, and he follows her without a word.