dinner," said Lady Thesiger. "Sir John will not be at home; he does not
return until late."

I was tortured with impatience. Had I been waiting for a verdict over
life or death, my agony would not have been one-half so great.

The long ordeal of dinner had to pass.

"You will allow me to go to the drawing-room with you," I said to the
mistress of the house. "I could not sit here alone."

Then I saw a chance. Agatha went to the piano and played one of
Mendelssohn's "Songs Without Words." The difference between the pure,
sweet, high-bred English girl and the brilliant, seductive French woman
never appeared to me so great as when they were at the piano. Coralie's
music wrapped one's soul, steeped one's senses, brought one nearer to
earth; Agatha took one almost straight to heaven. Listening to her, pure
and holy thoughts came, high and noble impulses.

Then, seeing that Lady Thesiger looked tired, I suggested that she
should rest upon the sofa while I took Miss Thesiger for a little stroll
through the gardens. The evening was beautiful, warm and clear, the
golden sun lingering as though loath to leave the fair world to
darkness.

At last, at last! My hands trembled with impatience as I drew the black
lace mantilla over her white shoulders. At last, at last I had her all
to myself, only the birds and flowers around us, only the blue sky
overhead.