"I hardly think I can," replied James, reddening. "I've got an engagement at four."
"Rot—come on! She's just as stunning as ever. By Gad, you should have seen her in her weeds!"
"In her weeds! What the devil do you mean?"
"Didn't you know? P. W. was bowled over at the beginning of the war—after Colenso, I think."
"By God!—I didn't know. I never saw!"
"Oh, well, I didn't know till I came home.... Let's stroll along, shall we? She's looking out for number two; but she wants money, so there's no danger for us!"
James rose mechanically, and putting on his hat, accompanied Barker, all unwitting of the thunder-blow that his words had been.... Mrs. Wallace was at home. James went upstairs, forgetting everything but that the woman he loved was free—free! His heart beat so that he could scarcely breathe; he was afraid of betraying his agitation, and had to make a deliberate effort to contain himself.
Mrs. Wallace gave a little cry of surprise on seeing James.... She had not changed. The black gown she wore, fashionable, but slightly fantastic, set off the dazzling olive clearness of her skin and the rich colour of her hair. James turned pale with the passion that consumed him; he could hardly speak.
"You wretch!" she cried, her eyes sparkling, "I've written to you twice—once to congratulate you, and then to ask you to come and see me—and you took not the least notice."
"Barker has just told me you wrote. I am so sorry."