He paid a vast deal more attention to her than he did to the dance;
the latter he put out more than once, his head and eyes being bent,
whispering to Decima. Before the dance was over, the hectic on her
cheeks had grown deeper.
"Are you afraid of the night air?" he asked, leading her through the
conservatory to the door at its other end.
"No. It never hurts me."
He proceeded along the gravel path round to the other side of the house;
there he opened the glass doors of a room and entered. It led into
another, bright with fire.
"It is my own sitting-room," he observed. "Nobody will intrude upon us
here."
Taking up the poker, he stirred the fire into a blaze. Then he put it
down and turned to her, as she stood on the hearth-rug.
"Decima!"
It was only a simple name; but Sir Edmund's whole frame was quivering
with emotion as he spoke it. He clasped her to him with a strangely fond
gesture, and bent his face on hers.
"I left my farewell on your lips when I quitted you, Decima. I must take
my welcome from them now."
She burst into tears as she clung to him.
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