"Very well," he said, "I
will go. I should have gone before. I would have done so, but I hated
to leave you alone."
He lifted her face and kissed her. She laid her head against his
shoulder, then she suddenly pushed him from her with a low cry, and
Dartmouth, following her gaze, turned his head in time to meet the
scornful eyes of Miss Penrhyn as she dropped the portiere from her
hand. Dartmouth kicked aside a footstool with an exclamation of
anger. He was acutely conscious of having been caught in a ridiculous
position, and moreover, he would not be the chief sufferer.
"Oh, Harold! Harold!" gasped Margaret, "I am ruined. You know what
women are. By this time to-morrow that girl will have told the story
all over Paris."
The words made Dartmouth forget his personal annoyance for the moment.
"Do not cry any more," he said, kindly; "I am awfully sorry, but I
will see what I can do. I will make a point of meeting the girl, and
I will see that--do not worry. I will go at once, and you had better
remain here for the present. There is no danger of anyone intruding
upon you: this room was never intended for three.
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