caught him by the shoulders, dragged him underneath the electric globe, and stood there gazing into his face. The great log upon the hearth was spluttering and fizzing. Through the closed door came the faint wave of conversation and laughter from outside. Her breathing was uneven, her eyes were seeking to rend the mask from his face.
“Can you have learnt to care for any one else?” she muttered. “There were no women in Africa. This Rosamund Dominey, your reputed wife—they tell me that she is beautiful, that you have been kindness itself to her, that her health has improved since your coming, that she adores you. You wouldn’t dare—”
“No,” he interrupted, “I should not dare.”
“Then what are you looking at?” she demanded. “Tell me that?”
Her eyes were following the shadowed picture which had passed out of the room. He saw once more the slight, girlish form, the love-seeking light in those pleading dark eyes, the tremulous lips, the whole sweet appeal for safety from a frightened child to him, the strong man. He felt the clinging touch of those soft fingers laid upon his, the sweetness of those marvellously awakened emotions, so cruelly and drearily stifled through a cycle of years. The woman’s passion by his side seemed suddenly tawdry and unreal, the seeking of her lips for his something horrible. His back was towards the door, and it was her cry of angry dismay which first apprised him of a welcome intruder. He swung around to find Seaman standing upon the threshold—Seaman, to him a very angel of deliverance.
“I am indeed sorry to intrude, Sir Everard,” the newcomer declared, with a shade of genuine concern on his round, good-humoured face. “Something has happened which I thought you ought to know at once. Can you spare me a moment?”
The Princess swept past them without a word of farewell or a backward glance. She had the carriage and the air of an insulted queen. A shade of deeper trouble came into Seaman’s face as he stepped respectfully to one side.
“What is it that has happened?” Dominey demanded.
“Lady Dominey has returned,” was the quiet reply.
CHAPTER XVII
It seemed to Dominey that he had never seen anything more pathetic than that eager glance, half of hope, half of apprehension, flashed upon him from the strange, tired eyes of the woman who was standing before the log fire in a little recess of the main hall. By her side stood a pleasant, friendly looking person in the uniform of a nurse; a yard or two behind, a maid carrying a jewel case. Rosamund, who had thrown back her veil, had been standing with her foot upon the fender. Her whole expression changed as Dominey came hastily towards her with outstretched hands.
“My dear child,” he exclaimed, “welcome home!”
“Welcome?” she repeated, with a glad catch in her throat. “You mean it?”
With a self-control of which he gave no sign, he touched the lips which were raised so eagerly to his as tenderly and reverently as though this were some strange child committed to his care.
“Of course I mean it,” he answered heartily. “But what possessed you to come without giving us notice? How was this, nurse?”
“Her ladyship has had no sleep for two nights,” the latter replied. “She has been so much better that we dreaded the thought of a relapse, so Mrs. Coulson, our matron, thought it best to let her have her own way about coming. Instead of telegraphing to you, unfortunately, we telegraphed to Doctor Harrison, and I believe he is away.”
“Is it very wrong of me?” Rosamund asked, clinging to Dominey’s arm. “I had a sudden feeling that I must get back here. I wanted to see you again. Every one has been so sweet and kind at Falmouth, especially Nurse Alice here, but they weren’t quite the same thing. You are not angry? These people who are staying here will not mind?”
“Of course not,” he assured her cheerfully. “They will be your guests. To- morrow you must make friends with them all.”
“There was a very beautiful woman,” she said timidly, “with red hair, who passed by just now. She looked very angry. That was not because I have come?”
“Why should it be?” he answered. “You have a right here—a better right than any one.”
She drew a long sigh of contentment.
“Oh, but this is wonderful!” she cried. “And you dear,—I shall call you Everard, mayn’t I?—you look just as I hoped you might. Will you take me upstairs, please? Nurse, you can follow us.”
She leaned heavily on his arm and even loitered on the way, but her steps grew lighter as they approached her own apartment. Finally, as they reached the corridor, she broke away from him and tripped on with the gaiety almost of a child to the door of her room. Then came a little cry of disappointment as she flung open the door. Several maids were there, busy with a refractory fire and removing the covers from the furniture, but the room was half full of smoke and entirely unprepared.
“Oh, how miserable!” she exclaimed. “Everard, what shall I do?”
He threw open the door of his own apartment. A bright fire was burning in the grate, the room was warm and comfortable. She threw herself with a little cry of delight into the huge Chesterfield drawn up to the edge of the hearthrug.
“I can stay here, Everard, can’t I, until you come up to bed?” she pleaded. “And then you can sit and talk to me, and tell me who is here and all about the people. You have no idea how much better I am. All my music has come back to me, and they say that I play bridge ever so well. I shall love to help you entertain.”
The maid was slowly unfastening her mistress’s boots. Rosamund held up her foot for him to feel.
“See how cold I am!” she complained. “Please rub it. I am going to have some supper up here with nurse. Will one of you maids please go down and see about it? What a lot of nice new things you have, Everard!” she added, looking around. “And that picture of me from the drawing-room, on the table!” she cried, her eyes suddenly soft with joy. “You dear thing! What made you bring that up?”
“I wanted to have it here,” he told her.
“I’m not so nice as that now,” she sighed, a little wistfully.
“Do not believe it,” he answered. “You have not changed in the least. You will be better-looking still when you have been here for a few months.”
She looked at him almost shyly—tenderly, yet still with that gleam of aloofness in her eyes.
“I think,” she murmured, “I shall be just what you want me to be. I think you could make me just what you want. Be very kind to me, please,” she begged, stretching her arms out to him. “I suppose it is because I have been ill so long, but I feel so helpless, and I love your strength and I want you to take care of me. Your own hands are quite cold,” she added anxiously. “You look pale, too. You’re not ill, Everard?”
“I am very well,” he assured her, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Forgive me now, won’t you, if I hurry away. There are guests here—rather important guests. To-morrow you must come
