The man obeyed at once with the unquestioning readiness of one used to his mistress’ whims.  For several minutes she remained silent.  She had the air of one drinking in with almost passionate eagerness the sedative effect of the stillness, the soft spring air, the musical country sounds, the ripple of the breeze in the trees, the humming of insects, the soft splash of the lake against the stony shore.  Philip himself was awakened into a peculiar sense of pleasure by this, almost his first glimpse of the country since his arrival in New York.  A host of half forgotten sensations warmed his heart.  He felt suddenly intensely sympathetic, perhaps more genuinely tender than he had ever felt before towards the woman by his side, whose hour of suffering it was.  His hand slipped under the rug and held her fingers, which clutched his in instantaneous response.  Her lips seemed unlocked by his slight action.

“I came here alone two years ago,” she told him, “and since then often, sometimes to study a difficult part, sometimes only to think.  One moment.”

She released her fingers from his, drew out the hatpins from her hat, unwound the veil and threw them both on to the opposite seat.  Then she laid her hands upon her forehead as though to cool it.  The little breeze from the lake rippled through her hair, bringing them every now and then faint whiffs of perfume from the bordering gardens.

“There!” she exclaimed, with a little murmur of content.  “That’s a man’s action, isn’t it?  Now I think I am getting brave.  I have something to say to you, Philip.”

He felt her fingers seeking his again and held them tightly.  It was curious how in that moment of crisis his thoughts seemed to wander away.  He was watching the little flecks of gold in her hair, wondering if he had ever properly appreciated the beautiful curve of her neck.  Even her voice seemed somehow attuned to the melody of their surroundings, the confused song of the birds, the sighing of the lake, the passing of the west wind through the trees and shrubs around.

“Philip,” she began, clinging closely to him, “I have brought you here to tell you a story which perhaps you will think, when you have heard it, might better have been told in my dressing-room.  Well, I couldn’t.  Besides, I wanted to get away.  It is about Sylvanus Power.”

He sat a little more upright.  His nerves were tingling now with eagerness.

“Yes?”

“I met him,” she continued, “eight years ago out West, when I was in a travelling show.  I accepted his attentions at first carelessly enough.  I did not realise the sort of man he was.  He was a great personage even in those days, and I suppose my head was a little turned.  Then he began to follow us everywhere.  There was a scandal, of course.  In the end I left the company and came to New York.  He went to China, where he has always had large interests.  When I heard that he had sailed—­I remember reading it in the paper—­I could have sobbed with joy.”