"Oh, don't they? They despise and loathe me."
"When you were ill, they did all they could for you."
"Foolish creature! Don't you know that to do good to your enemy is the very best way of showing your contempt."
And so James could go on, questioning, replying, putting little jests into her mouth, or half-cynical repartees. Sometimes he spoke aloud, and then Mrs. Wallace's voice sounded in his ears, clear and rich and passionate, as though she were really standing in the flesh beside him. But always he finished by taking her in his arms and kissing her lips and her closed eyes, the lids transparent like the finest alabaster. He knew no pleasure greater than to place his hands on that lustrous hair. What could it matter now? He was not bound to Mary; he could do no harm to Mrs. Wallace, ten thousand miles away.
But Colonel Parsons broke into the charming dream. Bent and weary, he came across the lawn to find his son. The wan, pathetic figure brought back to James all the present bitterness. He sighed, and advanced to meet him.
"You're very reckless to come out without a hat, father. I'll fetch you one, shall I?"
"No, I'm not going to stay." The Colonel could summon up no answering smile to his boy's kind words. "I only came to tell you that Mrs. Jackson is in the drawing-room, and would like to see you."
"What does she want?"
"She'll explain herself. She has asked to see you alone."
Jamie's face darkened, as some notion of Mrs. Jackson's object dawned upon him.