Emily, overcome by the sense of relief after her apprehensions, gave free utterance to the warm words in which her joy voiced itself.  She forgot all that was strange in Beatrice’s manner or attributed it merely to timidity.  Sympathy just now was like sunshine to her; she could not inquire whence or why it came, but was content to let it bathe her in its divine solace.

‘If you knew how it has flattered me!’ Beatrice continued, with a semblance of light-hearted goodness which her hearer had no thought of criticising.  ’It is the final proof of Mr. Athel’s good opinion.  You know his poor opinion of conventional people and conventional behaviour.  He is determined that no one shall be told till—­till after Wednesday—­making me the sole exception, you see.  But seriously I am glad he did so, and that I have been able to meet you again just at this time.  Now I can assure him that you are indeed a living being, and that there is no danger whatever of your disappearing.’

Emily did not join the musical laugh, but her heart was full, and she just laid her hand on that of Beatrice.

‘It was only for a moment,’ the latter said, rising as she felt the touch.  ’This is no hour for paying visits, and, indeed, I have to hurry back again.  I should like to—­only to say that you have my very kindest wishes.  You forgive my coming; you forgive my hastening away so?’

‘I feel I ought to thank you more,’ broke from Emily’s lips.  ’To me, believe, it is all very like a dream.  O, it was kind of you to come!  You can’t think,’ she added, with only apparent irrelevance, ’how often I have recalled your beautiful singing; I have always thought of you with gratitude for that deep pleasure you gave me.’

‘O, you shall hear me sing again!’ laughed Beatrice.  ’Ask Mr. Athel to tell you something about that.  Indeed, it must be good-bye.’

They took each other’s hands, but for Emily it was not sufficient; she stepped nearer, offering her lips.

Beatrice kissed her.

CHAPTER XXV

A FAMILY CONCLAVE

At eleven o’clock on Wednesday morning Beatrice called at the Athels’ house.  Receiving the expected information that Wilfrid was not at home, she requested that Mr. Athel senior might not be disturbed and went to Wilfrid’s study.

Alone in the room, she took from her hand-bag a little packet addressed to Wilfrid on which she had written the word ‘private,’ and laid it on the writing-table.

She appeared to have given special attention to her toilet this morning; her attire was that of a lady of fashion, rich, elaborate, devised with consummate art, its luxury draping well the superb form wherein blended with such strange ardour the flames of heroism and voluptuousness.  Her moving made the air delicate with faint perfume; her attitude as she laid down the packet and kept her hand upon it for a moment was self-conscious, but nobly so; if an actress, she was cast by nature for the great parts and threw her soul into the playing of them.