“No! no!”

“Your face frightened me—­I can’t describe it—­I went to your friend and took it on myself to say that you wanted him.  It was an impulse—­I meant well.”

“I am sure you meant well.”  As he spoke, his face darkened a little, betraying a momentary feeling of distrust.  Had she put indiscreet questions to his traveling companion; and had the Major, under the persuasive influence of her beauty, been weak enough to answer them?  “Did you speak to my friend?” he asked.

“Only when I told him that he had better go to you.  And I think I said afterward I was afraid you were very ill.  We were in the confusion of arriving at Folkestone—­and, even if I had thought it right to say more, there was no opportunity.”

Romayne felt ashamed of the suspicion by which he had wronged her.  “You have a generous nature,” he said earnestly.  “Among the few people whom I know, how many would feel the interest in me that you felt?”

“Don’t say that, Mr. Romayne!  You could have had no kinder friend than the gentleman who took care of you on your journey.  Is he with you now in London?”

“No.”

“I am sorry to hear it.  You ought to have some devoted friend always near you.”

She spoke very earnestly.  Romayne shrank, with a strange shyness, from letting her see how her sympathy affected him.  He answered lightly.  “You go almost as far as my good friend there reading the newspaper,” he said.  “Lord Loring doesn’t scruple to tell me that I ought to marry.  I know he speaks with a sincere interest in my welfare.  He little thinks how he distresses me.”

“Why should he distress you?”

“He reminds me—­live as long as I may—­that I must live alone.  Can I ask a woman to share such a dreary life as mine?  It would be selfish, it would be cruel; I should deservedly pay the penalty of allowing my wife to sacrifice herself.  The time would come when she would repent having married me.”

Stella rose.  Her eyes rested on him with a look of gentle remonstrance.  “I think you hardly do women justice,” she said softly.  “Perhaps some day a woman may induce you to change your opinion.”  She crossed the room to the piano.  “You must be tired of playing, Adelaide,” she said, putting her hand caressingly on Lady Loring’s shoulder.

“Will you sing, Stella?”

She sighed, and turned away.  “Not to-night,” she answered.

Romayne took his leave rather hurriedly.  He seemed to be out of spirits and eager to get away.  Lord Loring accompanied his guest to the door.  “You look sad and careworn,” he said.  “Do you regret having left your books to pass an evening with us?”

Romayne looked up absently, and answered, “I don’t know yet.”

Returning to report this extraordinary reply to his wife and Stella, Lord Loring found the drawing-room empty.  Eager for a little private conversation, the two ladies had gone upstairs.