She went to a long mirror and hurriedly arranged her hair; then, turning to the maid, ordered her visitor to be shown in.
“I wonder what his object is in coming here,” she muttered to herself, as she sank into her wicker chair, and commenced twisting her rings round her shapely fingers perplexedly. “Surely he cannot suspect! Yet the threats of that fool Egerton still ring in my ears,” and she frowned thoughtfully.
When her visitor entered she rose, calm and pale, to meet him.
“So you have returned to me at last, Hugh,” she said in a faltering voice, almost overcome with emotion.
“Yes, dearest,” he replied, placing his arm around her waist, and drawing her closely to him. “I have come to beg forgiveness for being so rash.”
“My forgiveness!” she exclaimed in a tone of surprise, looking up into his face. “Why, I have nothing really to forgive.”
“I judged you too hastily, Valérie, and, now I have learned the error of my ways, I have come over here to receive your pardon.”
“And I grant that freely,” she said, with a happy smile, for she was unfeignedly delighted that he had returned.
“Do you know,” he said, as he slowly released her, and sank into a chair beside her, “I’ve been unspeakably dull and miserable. By Jove! life hasn’t been worth living lately.”
“Why?” asked she naïvely.