She went into the hall smiling faintly.
"So you have come! I was just going to speak to your man through the telephone, to tell him not to bother you, that it didn"t matter, and that to-morrow would do as well. It"s so very late."
He began to take off his overcoat, helped by Murgatroyd.
"Not a bit too late!" he said. "I shall enjoy a little talk with you by the fire. Thanks, Murgatroyd! I was dining out with the Montgomeries in Eaton Square."
"Come upstairs."
She led the way, and as she mounted slowly with him close behind her she felt weak and now horribly afraid. She went into the drawing-room.
He followed and shut the door, then came slowly, with his firm tread, towards her and the fire.
"Ah!" he said. "You thought of me!"
He had seen the cigar-box, the whisky and Perrier. A very gentle, intensely kind, almost beaming look came into his lined face.
"Or--was it Murgatroyd?"
"No."
"I wonder whether you know what it means to an old fellow like myself to be thought of now and then in these little ways!"
"Oh--Seymour!" she said.
Tears stood in her eyes. His few simple words had suddenly brought home to her in a strange, intense way the long loneliness to which she had condemned him. And now he was an old fellow! And he was grateful, beamingly grateful, for a little commonplace thought about his comfort such as any hostess might surely have had!
"Don"t!" she added. "You hurt me when you say such a thing."
"Do I? And if I take a cigar?"
"Here! Let me clip it for you!"
As she clipped it he said:
"There is nothing serious the matter, is there, Adela? When I had your message I felt a little anxious."
She lit a match for him. She felt very tender over him, but she felt also very much afraid of him.
"Your hand is trembling, my dear!"
He took hold of her wrist, and held it while she lit his cigar. And his dry, firm fingers seemed to send her some strength.
"If only I had as little to be ashamed of as he has!" she thought, with a sort of writhing despair.
And she longed, as never before, for an easy conscience.
"I"ve had rather a trying time just lately," she said. "Come and sit down. Will you drink something?"
"Not yet, thank you."
He sat down in an arm-chair and crossed his legs, putting the right leg over the left, as he always did. She was on her sofa, leaning on her left arm, and looking at him. She was trying to read him, to read his whole character, to force her way to his secret, that she might be sure how much she might dare. Could he ever turn against her? Was that possible? His kind, dark eyes were fixed upon her. Could they ever look unkindly at her? She could scarcely believe that they could. But she knew that in human nature few things are impossible. Such terrible changes can take place in a moment. And the mystery is never really solved.
"Well, my dear, would you like to tell me what is troubling you? Perhaps I can do something."
"I want you to do something for me. Or rather--it would really be for somebody else. You remember Beryl Van Tuyn?"
"The daffodil girl--yes."
"She has been here to-night. She is in a great difficulty. By the way, of course she knows about my consulting you. I told her I would do it."
"I did not suppose you would give away a confidence."
"No! Seymour, has it ever struck you that there is something in you and in me which is akin in spite of the tremendous differences in our natures?"
"Oh yes."
"I"m glad. I like to feel that and--and I want you to feel it."
"I do. I feel it strongly."
"Whatever happens it would always be there."
"Yes, of course."
"It helps you to understand me, I expect."
"Surely it must."
"I wonder if you could ever--"
"What is it, Adela?"
"I wonder if you could ever turn against me."
"I don"t think that is very likely," he said.
She looked at him. He was smiling.
"But--could nothing cause you to change towards me?"
"Some things might cause me to change towards anyone."
"Ah!"
"But as they are not in your nature we need not consider them."
"But how do you know?"
"I do know."