John had now risen from his chair, and coming up to her took her by the arm and spoke a word.  ‘Compose yourself,’ he said.  He spoke in his most affectionate voice, and he stood very close to her.

‘How easy it is to bid me to do that,’ said Madalina.  ’Tell the sea to compose itself when it rages.’

‘Madalina!’ said he.

‘Well—­what of Madalina?  Madalina has lost her own respect—­for ever.’

‘Do not say that.’

’Oh, John—­why did you ever come here?  Why?  Why did we meet at that fatal woman’s house?  Or, meeting so, why did we not part as strangers?  Sir, why have you come here to my mother’s house day after day, evening after evening, if—­Oh, heavens, what am I saying?  I wonder whether you will scorn me always?’

‘I will never scorn you.’

‘And you will pardon me?’

‘There is nothing to pardon.’

‘And—­you will love me?’ Then, without waiting for any more encouraging reply—­unable, probably, to wait a moment longer, she sunk upon his bosom.  He caught her of course—­and at that moment the drawing-room door was opened, and Lady Demolines entered the chamber.  John Eames detected a glance at the skirt of the old white dressing gown which he had seen whisking away on the occasion of his last visit to Porchester Terrace.  But on the present occasion Lady Demolines wore over it a short red opera cloak, and the cap on her head was ornamented with coloured ribbons.  ‘What is this,’ she said, ‘and why am I thus disturbed?’ Madalina lay motionless in Johnny’s arms, while the old woman glowered at him from under the coloured ribbons.  ’Mr Eames, what is that I behold?’ she said.

‘Your daughter, madam, seems to be a little unwell,’ said Johnny.  Madalina kept her feet firm on the ground, but did not for a moment lose her purchase against Johnny’s waistcoat.  Her respiration came very strong, but they came a good deal stronger when he mentioned the fact that she was not so well as she might be.

‘Unwell!’ said Lady Demolines.  And John was stricken at the moment with a conviction that her ladyship must have passed the early part of her life upon the stage.  ’You would trifle with me, sir.  Beware that you do not trifle with her—­with Madalina.’

‘My mother,’ said Madalina; but still she did not give up her purchase, and the voice seemed to come half from her and half from Johnny.  ’Come to me, my mother.’  Then Lady Demolines hastened to her daughter, and Madalina between them was gradually laid at her length upon the sofa.  The work of laying her out, however, was left almost entirely to the strong arm of Mr John Eames.  ‘Thanks, mother,’ said Madalina; but she had not as yet opened her eyes, even for an instant.  ’Perhaps I had better go now,’ said Johnny.  The old woman looked at him with eyes which asked whether ‘he didn’t wish he might get it’ as plainly as though the words had been pronounced.  ’Of course I’ll wait if I can be of any service,’ said Johnny.