Marian had dressed carefully in black, the single touch of color being a gold brooch at her neck.
She turned, with a gesture of impatience, away from the empty street to the empty room, and sat down by the fire, the one spot of warmth and brightness.
Her brows knit as she thought over the situation in which she had placed herself. She was ready to cross the Rubicon; had gone so far that return was unthinkable. It now depended upon Maddison whether her first fight would be a victory or a disastrous defeat. But she felt stronger now that she was free, and determinedly put aside all thought of what would face her if she failed to win.
The sharp pulling up of a hansom and the ringing of the house-bell made her listen eagerly. The subdued maidservant threw open the door and Maddison came in.
“It is so good of you to come!” Marian said, rising and holding out her hand. “I hope you didn’t mind my writing to you, but I’ve—no one else.”
The weariness and despondency in her voice and attitude hurt him.
“Of course I don’t mind—why on earth should I? Is—what’s happened?”
She sat down again, her back to the light, and he took the chair on the opposite side of the hearth. He could not see her face very distinctly in the dull room, but this very dimness gave an added charm to her beauty. She did not answer his question immediately, though her lips parted as if she were anxious but unable to speak.
“Now you’re here,” she said at last, “I’m frightened. I’d no right to ask you to come, but—I’d no one else, and I’m——”
Tears came into her eyes, rolling slowly down her cheeks. Then she covered her face with her hands, watching him very keenly between her fingers.