His voice had not trembled yet. It failed him now. His next words were spoken in faint whispering tones—to himself; not to her.
“Thank God for this day!” he said. “I have been of some service to one of the noblest of God’s creatures!”
Some subtle influence, as he spoke, passed from his hand to hers. It trembled through her nerves; it entwined itself mysteriously with the finest sensibilities in her nature; it softly opened her heart to a first vague surmising of the devotion that she had inspired in him. A faint glow of color, lovely in its faintness, stole over her face and neck. Her breathing quickened tremblingly. She drew her hand away from him, and sighed when she had released it.
He rose suddenly to his feet and left her, without a word or a look, walking slowly down the length of the room. When he turned and came back to her, his face was composed; he was master of himself again.
Mercy was the first to speak. She turned the conversation from herself by reverting to the proceedings in Lady Janet’s room.
“You spoke of Horace just now,” she said, “in terms which surprised me. You appeared to think that he would not hold me to my explanation. Is that one of the conclusions which you draw from Lady Janet’s letter?”
“Most assuredly,” Julian answered. “You will see the conclusion as I see it if we return for a moment to Grace Roseberry’s departure from the house.”
Mercy interrupted him there. “Can you guess,” she asked, “how Lady Janet prevailed upon her to go?”
“I hardly like to own it,” said Julian. “There is an expression in the letter which suggests to me that Lady Janet has offered her money, and that she has taken the bribe.”
“Oh, I can’t think that!”