She fell asleep like the wrecked flung ashore.

Danvers entered her room at an early hour for London to inform her that
Mr. Percy Dacier was below, and begged permission to wait.

Diana gave orders for breakfast to be proposed to him.  She lay staring at the wall until it became too visibly a reflection of her mind.

CHAPTER XXV

ONCE MORE THE CROSSWAYS AND A CHANGE OF TURNINGS

The suspicion of his having come to impart the news of his proximate marriage ultimately endowed her with sovereign calmness.  She had need to think it, and she did.  Tea was brought to her while she dressed; she descended the stairs revolving phrases of happy congratulation and the world’s ordinary epigrams upon the marriage-tie, neatly mixed.

They read in one another’s faces a different meaning from the empty words of excuse and welcome.  Dacier’s expressed the buckling of a strong set purpose; but, grieved by the look of her eyes, he wasted a moment to say:  ‘You have not slept.  You have heard . . . ?’

‘What?’ said she, trying to speculate; and that was a sufficient answer.

’I hadn’t the courage to call last night; I passed the windows.  Give me your hand, I beg.’

She gave her hand in wonderment, and more wonderingly felt it squeezed.  Her heart began the hammerthump.  She spoke an unintelligible something; saw herself melting away to utter weakness-pride, reserve, simple prudence, all going; crumbled ruins where had stood a fortress imposing to men.  Was it love?  Her heart thumped shiveringly.

He kept her hand, indifferent to the gentle tension.

’This is the point:  I cannot live without you:  I have gone on . . .  Who was here last night?  Forgive me.’

‘You know Arthur Rhodes.’

’I saw him leave the door at eleven.  Why do you torture me?  There’s no time to lose now.  You will be claimed.  Come, and let us two cut the knot.  It is the best thing in the world for me—­the only thing.  Be brave!  I have your hand.  Give it for good, and for heaven’s sake don’t play the sex.  Be yourself.  Dear soul of a woman!  I never saw the soul in one but in you.  I have waited:  nothing but the dread of losing you sets me speaking now.  And for you to be sacrificed a second time to that—!  Oh, no!  You know you can trust me.  On my honour, I take breath from you.  You are my better in everything—­guide, goddess, dearest heart!  Trust me; make me master of your fate.’

‘But my friend!’ the murmur hung in her throat.  He was marvellously transformed; he allowed no space for the arts of defence and evasion.

’I wish I had the trick of courting.  There’s not time; and I ’m a simpleton at the game.  We can start this evening.  Once away, we leave it to them to settle the matter, and then you are free, and mine to the death.’