“I don’t—­want him to love me,” she sobbed.  “Oh, I know that I am foolish and wicked and childish, but I am afraid of him.”

I kept silence, for my own battle was a hard one.  The little hand was holding fast to mine.  She lay curled up in the corner of the chair, her face hidden, her slim delicate figure shaking every now and then with sobs.  All the while I longed passionately to take her into my arms and comfort her.

“Don’t!” I begged.  “Oh, don’t.  Ray has told me his story.  He has made me his confidant.  He has told me how unhappy he has been, and how he loves you.  Oh, Lady Angela, what is there I can say?  What can I do?”

I was losing my head a little, I think, for her fingers were gripping mine convulsively, warm and tender little fingers which seemed to be drawing me all the while closer to her.

“I am so miserable,” she murmured.

Then suddenly her other arm was around my neck, her wet tear-stained face was pressed to mine.  I scarcely knew how it happened, but I knew that she was in my arms, and my lips were pressed to hers.  A sudden, beautiful wave of colour flooded her cheeks; she smiled gladly up at me.  She gave a delicious little sigh of satisfaction and then buried her face on my shoulder.  Almost at the same moment Ray entered the room.

She did not at once raise her head, although she pushed me gently away from her at the sound of the opening door.  But I, who was standing facing that direction, saw him from the first, a dark stern figure, standing as though rooted to the ground, with the doorhandle still in his hand.  For the second time in one day he seemed to have intervened at the precise psychological moment.  He did not speak to me, nor I to him.  Lady Angela, as though wondering at the silence, turned her head at last, and a little gasping cry broke from her lips.

“Mostyn,” she exclaimed.  “Is that you?”

For answer he turned towards the wall and flooded the room with electric light.  Then he looked at us both intently and mercilessly; only this time I saw that much of his wonderful self-control was wanting.  He did not answer Lady Angela.  He did not glance towards her.

“You cur!” he cried.  “Twice in a day am I to be brought face to face with your cursed treachery?  Twice in a day!  Lady Angela, may I beg that you will leave us?”

She stood up and faced him, slim and white-faced, yet with her head thrown back and her voice steady.

“Mostyn,” she said, “this is my fault.  I do not ask for your forgiveness.  I have behaved shamefully, but I was miserable, and I forgot.  Mr. Ducaine is blameless.  It was my fault.”

“You will pardon the keenness of my observation,” he answered, “but the attitude in which I was unfortunate enough to find you tells its own story.  You will oblige me, Lady Angela, by leaving us alone.”

I would have spoken, but she held out her hand.