She advanced with her hand outstretched and a smile upon her face, that countenance that was ever before me in my day-dreams.
“How fortunate I am to find you in,” she exclaimed, half breathless after the ascent of the stairs. “I’ve been to your office, and they told me that you were probably at home.”
“It is I who am fortunate,” I answered, laughing gaily, placing the armchair for her and drawing out a little oaken footstool, a relic from some bygone generation of men who had tenanted those grimy old rooms.
With a sigh she seated herself, and then for the first time I noticed the deathly pallor of her cheeks. Even her thick veil did not conceal it. She was in black, neat as usual, but her skirt was unbrushed and dusty, and her hair was just a trifle awry, as though she had been travelling about some hours.
“I have called upon you here for the first and for the last time,” she said in a broken voice, looking seriously across to me, as the unwonted tears sprang into her eyes.
“The last time!” I echoed. “What do you mean?”
“I have come to wish you farewell,” she said in a low, faltering voice. “I am leaving London. My mother and I are going abroad.”
“Abroad? Where?” I cried, dismayed.
“My mother’s health is not good, and the doctor has ordered her to the South immediately. He says that she must never return to this climate, because it will hasten her malady to a fatal termination. Therefore, in future we must be exiles.” She was looking straight into my face as she spoke, and those great wondrous eyes of hers that I had believed to be so pure and honest never wavered. “I leave to-morrow and join her,” she added.
“Then she has already gone!” I exclaimed, the truth at once flashing upon me that Lady Glaslyn had actually fled.