She only coloured painfully up to the heavy eyes,
whether from confusion or pleasure or passion I could not tell. She
made no answer, and the soft, captive hand struggled faintly to be
free.
We were surrounded the next instant by the press of talking,
laughing guests passing down to the door, and I could do nothing but
drop her hand and leave her with a composed face, and my brain
feeling literally on fire. The perplexity, mystery, uncertainty, and
irritation which Lucia's illness and manner had poured suddenly in
upon the elation, the assured triumph, the excited expectations and
eager desire with which I had come, produced a state of thought in
which I hardly recognised my reasoning being.
I made my way over to Mrs. Grant with the conventional smile, and
then, once without the drawing-room, hurried down to the door and
the night air. In the hall I recognised, standing waiting for his
carriage, a familiar figure. It was a man I had known intimately in
India: he was home now on furlough, and as friends we were often
invited to the same houses.
"I say, Dick," I said, as I came up to him, "it's a lovely night.
Are you game for a walk? If so, send the carriage home and come with
me round to my place. I want your advice and condolences."
We were at the foot of the stairs. The other men and women had
collected nearer the door.
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