“It is not that,” said the lady. “I am married.” She was still struggling with her emotion.
Amherst recoiled. He was torn with conflicting thoughts. What if he had been seen giving that involuntary salute? He might have ruined her peace for ever. Who would believe in the truth of any possible explanation?
“I will leave you at once;” he said stiffly, “there is nothing more to be said.”
“Oh! You will reproach me now!” said his companion, wiping her eyes as the tears came afresh.
“I will try not to;” said Amherst, “but you could so easily have told me; I do not think it was—quite—fair.” Yet he could not be altogether angry with the partner of his thoughtlessness, nor could he be entirely cold. Her beautiful eyes, her despairing attitude would haunt him he knew for many a day. She had ceased weeping and stood quietly awaiting his departure. Amherst felt all the force of a strong and novel passion sweep along his frame as he looked at her. Was she happy, was she a loved and loving wife? Somehow the conviction forced itself upon him that she was not. Yet he could not ask her, it must remain her secret.
Amherst looked at his watch. It aroused her.
“What is the time?” she said lifting her head for the first time since he had kissed her.
“Ten minutes past six,” Amherst replied.
“You must go,” she said, with an effort at self-control. “I shall have much to do presently.”
He cast one look about and approached her.