‘But whatever the plot was, Shawn had no hand in it.’

’No, no, of course not!  I see now.  But the other, in the room!  Ah, if you knew all my history, you would understand better!  I felt that some vengeance was out against me.  I saw everything clearly.  I tried to keep my head, and to decide calmly what I ought to do.  It was from a little table in the passage that I picked up the revolver.  Then I heard hurried footsteps coming through the drawing-room towards the passage.  It was Mr. Tudor.  He seemed very startled.  I tried to appear unconcerned.  “What is the matter?” he asked; he had gone quite pale.  “Nothing,” I said.  “I only went to fetch a handkerchief.”  He laughed uneasily.  “I was afraid you had thought better of it and run away from me,” he said.  And he kissed me; I was obliged to submit.  All this time I was thinking hard what to do.  I suggested we should go on to the roof garden for awhile.  He objected, but finally he gave way, and he brought me the cloak and hat, and we went to the garden and sat down.  I felt safer there.  At last I ventured to tell him that I must go home.  Of course, he objected to that too, but he gave way a second time.  “I will just speak to Mrs. Dant,” I said.  “You stay here for three minutes.  By that time I shall be ready.”  And I went off towards the flat, but as soon as I was out of his sight I turned and ran here.  And that’s all.’

‘You are a wonderful creature,’ Hugo murmured, looking at her meditatively.

‘Why?’ The question was put with a sort of artless and melancholy surprise.

‘How can I tell?’ said Hugo.  ‘How can I tell why Heaven made you so?’

She laughed, and the laugh enchanted him.  He had studied her during her recital; he had observed her continual effort to use ordinary words and ordinary tones like a garment to hide vivid sensations and emotions which, however, shone through the garment as her face might have shone through a veil.

He recalled her little gestures, inflections, glances—­the thousand avenues by which her rich and overflowing individuality escaped from the prison of her will, and impressed itself on the rest of the created universe.  Her story was decidedly singular, and as mysterious as it was singular; that something sinister would be brought to light, he felt sure.  But what occupied and charmed his mind was the exquisite fact that between him and her relations were now established.  The story, her past danger, even her possible future danger—­these things only interested him in so far as they formed the basis of an intimacy.  He exulted in being near her, in the savour of her commanding presence.  When he thought of her in his monstrous shop, wilting in the heat, bowing deferentially to fools, martyrizing her soul for less than two pounds a week, he thought of kings’ daughters sold into slavery.  But she was a princess now, and for evermore, and she had come to him of her own free will; she had trusted him; she had invited his help!  It was glorious beyond the dreams of his passion.