“Yes.”
“My sweet child! Dear, dear me, the wine has done you no good; you’re as pale as ever. Is it that priest? Oh, pooh, pooh, leave Father Benwell to me.” [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]
CHAPTER IV.
IN THE SMALL HOURS.
WHEN Stella left the conservatory, the attraction of the ball for Romayne was at an end. He went back to his rooms at the hotel.
Penrose was waiting to speak to him. Romayne noticed signs of suppressed agitation in his secretary’s face. “Has anything happened?” he inquired.
“Nothing of any importance,” Penrose answered, in sad subdued tones. “I only wanted to ask you for leave of absence.”
“Certainly. Is it for a long time?”
Penrose hesitated. “You have a new life opening before you,” he said. “If your experience of that life is—as I hope and pray it may be—a happy one, you will need me no longer; we may not meet again.” His voice began to tremble; he could say no more.