She had taken no part in the general excitement, moved not one foot from where she had been standing from the first. Even when Athalie danced over and hugged her and showed the important fragments; even when she reproved her with a wondering, "Ah, you strange Anglais--you stone-cold Anglais! Is it possible that you can have blood in your veins and yet take wondrous things like this so calmly?"--even then, she merely smiled and remained standing just as she still was; her pallor not one whit lessened, her reserve but the merest shadow less apparent than it had been before.
Cleek chose that moment to walk over to her, to lift his eyes to hers, and to stand looking at her questioningly. For now that he was close to her he could see that she was trembling nervously; that her calmness was merely an outward thing, and that under it nerves writhed and a frightened heart was beating thick and fast.
Was even the fancied moment in Paradise to be denied him then? That such a woman could not, all in a moment--could not by just one act of heroism on his part--be won over and lured into complete forgetfulness of such a past as his, he realized to the fullest extent. Always he had been conscious of that; but even so ... Ah, well, the meanest may hope, the lowest may at least look up; and even saints and angels were not above saying, "Well done!" to a soul that had struggled, to a sinner that had done his best.
"I managed it, you see, Miss Lorne," he said, in a slightly lowered voice, while the baron busied himself in looking for his cheque-book and Athalie bustled about in quest of ink and a pen. "It wasn't an easy night's work, and I'm a bit fagged out. So, as I leave in the morning, it will be good-bye as well as good-night."
She moved for the first time. The hand that lay upon the shelf of the mantelpiece shook and closed quickly. She lifted up her head and looked at him. Her eyes were misty and faint clouds of color were coming and going over her face.
"What is it?" he asked. "Surely, Miss Lorne, you--are not afraid of me?"
"No," she said, averting her face again. "Not of you but of myself. That is--I--" trying to laugh, but making a parody of it--"I was always more or less of a coward, Mr. Cleek, but ..." She faced round again sharply and held out her hand to him. "Will you let me thank you? Will you let me say that I must be merely a little child in intellect since it is only now that I have begun to understand how natural it is that a pound of gold should inevitably outweigh an ounce of dirt? And will you please understand that I am trying to thank you, trying to let you know that I am very, very sorry if I ever hurt your feelings. I don't think I meant to. I couldn't see then so clearly as I do now. Please forgive me."