"Yes, please come. Won't you stay to dinner?"

"I should like to, awfully."

"Very well then, do."

She managed to walk into the drawing-room; but as he laid her on the sofa, her head fell limply backward, and she fainted.

He stood watching her intently for a few seconds. Then he bent over her, low and lower, till his lips almost rested upon hers. But at this point something checked his despicable impulse--perhaps the purity of her face, or merely its unresisting stillness. Perhaps he chose to defer the pleasure till a more acceptable moment. He straightened himself with a jerk; and hastening into the hall, shouted for brandy and soda-water.

Very soon a faint colour crept back into her cheeks. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him.

"Drink some of this," he said. "It's very weak, and you need it."

She took a few sips and set down the gla.s.s.

"Better now?" he asked, and leaned over her again, his hand on the sofa back, his lips perilously close to her hair. At that critical moment, Wyndham's tall figure appeared in the doorway, closely followed by Honor Meredith.

Kresney's back was towards him; and the tableau presented by the pair was equivocal, to say the least of it. For an instant Paul stood still in sheer stupefaction; then he turned to the girl, his grey eyes ablaze with indignation, and she had never liked him better than at that moment.

As he stepped forward, Kresney started up with a stifled oath; and the two men confronted one another, in silent, undisguised hostility, while Honor hurried to Evelyn's side.

"What is wrong with Mrs Desmond?" Paul asked coldly, concealing his natural anxiety for Theo's wife.

"Oh, she has had a spill. The mare came down with her; and she fainted when I got her home."

Kresney's p.r.o.nounced frigidity was more ludicrous than impressive; and the shadow of a smile lurked beneath Paul's moustache as he addressed himself to Honor.

"Wouldn't it be well to send for Conolly?" he asked. But Evelyn interposed.

"No,--no,--I don't want Dr Conolly. I'm all right now."

She raised herself on her elbow in proof of her statement.

"Mr Kresney was very kind to me. I have asked him to dinner. Won't you stay too?"

"Thanks. I'll go and change, and come back later. You will do the same, I presume?" And he looked directly at Kresney, who had wit enough to perceive that the situation was untenable.

"It's very good of you to want me, Mrs Desmond," he said, elaborately ignoring Wyndham's remark, "but I'd better not stop to-night. You won't be fit for much talking after that nasty tumble."

"Perhaps not. You must come some other night instead. I won't forget."

She held out her hand with marked graciousness, flashing a defiant glance at Paul, who, in sublime unconsciousness, followed Kresney out into the verandah, and remained standing on the steps till he had ridden out of sight.

No words pa.s.sed between them except a mutually formal "Good-night."

But Paul succeeded in conveying the impression that he regarded himself as Desmond's representative; and in making Kresney feel more acutely uncomfortable than he had felt for many a long day. If he had done no actual harm, the fault did not lie with him; and his conscience sprang painfully to life under the lash of Wyndham's contemptuous silence.

In the drawing-room, conversation fared little better.

"Why on earth was Major Wyndham so dignified and disagreeable?" Evelyn queried in a tone of frank annoyance. "It isn't _his_ affair."

"You seem to forget that he is Theo's oldest friend."

Restrained anger quivered in the girl's low voice.

"He has news for you--from the Samana," she added. "There has been sharp fighting. Theo's squadron has done a very dashing bit of work;--Major Wyndham will tell you about it, _if_ you care to hear.

Now you had better lie quiet till you dress for dinner." And without waiting for an answer she left the room.

Next morning, while she sat at work, wondering how she could broach the forbidden subject, Evelyn herself came and stood before her with a purposeful air of decision.

"Honor," she said, "I don't want anybody to say anything to--Theo about my accident. Do you see? It is my business to tell him, and not any one else's. Will you let Mrs Olliver know that, please? I don't care to speak to her about it myself."

Honor glanced up quickly.

"No, Evelyn; it would be just as well not. She happened to be crossing this hill yesterday when you and Mr Kresney were on the lower road; and--she saw you together."

"Just the sort of thing she _would_ do! I hate Mrs Olliver! Always spying on me; and I dare say she won't believe the truth even now. But I won't have her talking to _Theo_ about me, whatever she may imagine."

"You know her very little if you think she could do that," Honor answered quietly. "She only spoke to me because she fancies I have influence with you. But that seems to be over now. You have chosen to go your own way. It is a very dangerous way. However, I can say nothing more on the subject."

Evelyn choked back her rising tears.

"Honor, can't you _see_ that--that I'm frightened and miserable about Theo, and I must have something to help me forget? It's no use trying to make _you_ understand how it feels to have him away up there--always in danger----"

Honor started and flushed. "Indeed, dear, I do understand," she answered, not quite steadily.

Evelyn shook her head.

"You think you do, but you can't really. I know you are great friends with him, and you'd be very sorry if--if anything happened. But it's ever so much worse for me, because I am--his wife. Now I must go and write to him about all this."

And Honor, left alone, leaned back in her chair, hiding her face in her hands.

"G.o.d forgive me!" she murmured. "How dare _I_ find fault with her, blessed child that she is!"

CHAPTER XXI.

I AM YOURS.

"I knew thee strong and quiet--like the hills; I knew thee apt to pity, brave to endure."

--R. L. S.

Paul Wyndham's hopes were on the ascendant at last. After a full year of waiting, he saw himself drawing steadily nearer to his hour of reward.

He studied Honor Meredith as a man only studies that on which his life's happiness depends; and during the past few weeks he had become aware of a mysterious change in the girl's bearing. Her beauty--which had seemed to him so complete--was now unmistakably enhanced by some transformation within. Her whole nature seemed to have become more highly sensitised. Her colour came and went upon the least provocation; her frank friendliness was veiled by a shy reserve, that had in it no hint of coldness; and, more significant than all, her eyes no longer met his own with that disconcerting directness of gaze which had sealed his lips when they were upon the verge of speech.