“I accept it, then—again.”
Sir Donald went away thoughtfully. When he reached the Albany he found Mrs. Leo Ulford waiting for him in tears. They had a long interview.
Many people fancied that Sir Donald looked more ghostly, more faded even than usual as the season wore on. They said he was getting too old to go about so much as he did, and that it was a pity Society “got such a hold” on men who ought to have had enough of it long ago. One night he met Lady Holme at the Opera. She was in her box and he in the stalls. After the second act she called him to her with a gay little nod of invitation. Lady Cardington had been with her during the act, but left the box when the curtain fell to see some friends close by. When Sir Donald tapped at the door Lady Holme was quite alone. He came in quietly—even his walk was rather ghostly—and sat down beside her.
“You don’t look well,” she said after they had greeted each other.
“I am quite well,” he answered, with evident constraint.
“I haven’t seen you to speak to since that little note of yours.”
A very faint colour rose in his faded cheeks.
“After Miss Schley’s first night?” he murmured.
His yellow fingers moved restlessly.
“Do you know that your son told me you would write?” she continued.