She laughed shakily and her hand went up to remove it; but he caught her fingers and held them to his face. And with the movement and his look there came over her in a wave the shame of her surrender, a shame that was yet a glory, a diadem of pride. She turned blindly away.
"Please," she heard herself saying, "let me go now. I want to be alone. I want to—please don't tell me to-night. To-morrow——"
She was at the door, groping for the handle. Behind her she heard his voice; it was very tender.
"I shall always kneel to you—in your shrine."
Then she was outside, and the chilly passages were cooling her burning face. She had left him in the room behind her; and she knew he would wait there long enough to allow her to leave the building. Almost immediately, it seemed, she was downstairs in the hall, had reached the entrance.
She confronted a group of white-faced, silent men.
"Why, is anything the matter? What has happened? O'Dell?"
The porter stood forward. He cleared his throat twice, but for all that, his words were barely audible.
"Yes, Miss Carryll. Good-night, miss. You'd best be going on, miss, if you'll excuse——"
Behind O'Dell stood a policeman; behind him again, a grave-eyed man stooped to an unusual task. It arrested her attention like the flash of red danger.