The ghosts were in despair.
“Dawn draws on,” said the Gaunt Baron suddenly. “I always knew when I was beaten. Come, sweet dame. A man who can sleep like that will make his mark some day in the House of Lords.”
He vanished, and, after one despairing glance, the Blue Lady flung herself angrily through the oaken door.
It was at this moment, by a subtle irony of fate, that Lord Bancourt awoke. The sense of some presence lingered with him, and he sat upright in bed. His sleepy eyes were caught by a blue skirt which vanished from the doorway; his sleepy mind failed to perceive that the door had not been open.
“Whew!” he said, and lay thinking, thinking deeply—for Lord Bancourt.
He was very young, and, like most young nobles, not inclined to underestimate his own importance. After the first moment of surprise, he felt no doubt as to the wearer of the blue skirt. It was Elfrida. He was rather unobservant as to women’s dresses “and all that, you know”: but he felt fairly certain that she had worn a blue costume at dinner. Yes, it could be no one else. It was almost certainly Elfrida.
Elfrida’s iciness was but a cloak. When she had snubbed him by day, she would creep in by night and gaze upon his sleeping, moonlit face! How beautiful!
His heart thrilled at the revelation. He had hesitated, so far, to speak. It would never do for him—Lord Bancourt—to risk refusal by a nobody. His mother, in her long course of tuition, had taught him proper pride. But now....
Now, at the first chance, he would throw himself, his rank, his wealth, his everything before the nobody, and feel no fear as to the verdict. To-morrow—to-morrow!
And when to-morrow came, as it does sometimes come despite the proverb, he rose early and went out in the garden. As he had shaved each morning, he had seen Elfrida walking in the grounds below. He had never dared to join her. Everything, to-day, was different, though the weather was certainly absurdly cold for early rising.