For what happened a few moments later you must not blame him. Some measure of force was the only way out of an impossible situation. It was in vain that he commanded the young lady to let go: she did but cling the closer. It was in vain that he tried to disentangle himself of her by standing1 first on one foot, then on the other, and veering2 sharply on his heel: she did but sway as though hinged to him. He had no choice but to grasp her by the wrists, cast her aside, and step clear of her into the room.
Her hat, gauzily basking3 with a pair of long white gloves on one of his arm-chairs, proclaimed that she had come to stay.
Nor did she rise. Propped4 on one elbow, with heaving bosom5 and parted lips, she seemed to be trying to realise what had been done to her. Through her undried tears her eyes shone up to him.
He asked: “To what am I indebted for this visit?”
“Ah, say that again!” she murmured. “Your voice is music.”
He repeated his question.
“Music!” she said dreamily; and such is the force of habit that “I don’t,” she added, “know anything about music, really. But I know what I like.”
“Had you not better get up from the floor?” he said. “The door is open, and any one who passed might see you.”
Softly she stroked the carpet with the palms of her hands. “Happy carpet!” she crooned. “Aye, happy the very women that wove the threads that are trod by the feet of my beloved master. But hark! he bids his slave rise and stand before him!”
Just after she had risen, a figure appeared in the doorway6.
“I beg pardon, your Grace; Mother wants to know, will you be lunching in?”
“Yes,” said the Duke. “I will ring when I am ready.” And it dawned on him that this girl, who perhaps loved him, was, according to all known standards, extraordinarily8 pretty.
“Will—” she hesitated, “will Miss Dobson be—”
“No,” he said. “I shall be alone.” And there was in the girl’s parting half-glance at Zuleika that which told him he was truly loved, and made him the more impatient of his offensive and accursed visitor.
“You want to be rid of me?” asked Zuleika, when the girl was gone.
“I have no wish to be rude; but—since you force me to say it—yes.”
“Then take me,” she cried, throwing back her arms, “and throw me out of the window.”
He smiled coldly.
“You think I don’t mean it? You think I would struggle? Try me.” She let herself droop9 sideways, in an attitude limp and portable. “Try me,” she repeated.
“All this is very well conceived, no doubt,” said he, “and well executed. But it happens to be otiose10.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you may set your mind at rest. I am not going to back out of my promise.”
Zuleika flushed. “You are cruel. I would give the world and all not to have written you that hateful letter. Forget it, forget it, for pity’s sake!”
The Duke looked searchingly at her. “You mean that you now wish to release me from my promise?”
“Release you? As if you were ever bound! Don’t torture me!”
He wondered what deep game she was playing. Very real, though, her anguish11 seemed; and, if real it was, then—he stared, he gasped—there could be but one explanation. He put it to her. “You love me?”
“With all my soul.”
His heart leapt. If she spoke12 truth, then indeed vengeance13 was his! But “What proof have I?” he asked her.
“Proof? Have men absolutely NO intuition? If you need proof, produce it. Where are my ear-rings?”
“Your ear-rings? Why?”
Impatiently she pointed14 to two white pearls that fastened the front of her blouse. “These are your studs. It was from them I had the great first hint this morning.”
“Black and pink, were they not, when you took them?”
“Of course. And then I forgot that I had them. When I undressed, they must have rolled on to the carpet. Melisande found them this morning when she was making the room ready for me to dress. That was just after she came back from bringing you my first letter. I was bewildered. I doubted. Might not the pearls have gone back to their natural state simply through being yours no more? That is why I wrote again to you, my own darling—a frantic15 little questioning letter. When I heard how you had torn it up, I knew, I knew that the pearls had not mocked me. I telescoped my toilet and came rushing round to you. How many hours have I been waiting for you?”
The Duke had drawn16 her ear-rings from his waistcoat pocket, and was contemplating17 them in the palm of his hand. Blanched18, both of them, yes. He laid them on the table. “Take them,” he said.
“No,” she shuddered19. “I could never forget that once they were both black.” She flung them into the fender. “Oh John,” she cried, turning to him and falling again to her knees, “I do so want to forget what I have been. I want to atone20. You think you can drive me out of your life. You cannot, darling—since you won’t kill me. Always I shall follow you on my knees, thus.”
He looked down at her over his folded arms,
“I am not going to back out of my promise,” he repeated.
She stopped her ears.
With a stern joy he unfolded his arms, took some papers from his breast-pocket, and, selecting one of them, handed it to her. It was the telegram sent by his steward21.
She read it. With a stern joy he watched her reading it.
Wild-eyed, she looked up from it to him, tried to speak, and swerved22 down senseless.
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