"And she did not, Kathleen would not, she never forgets!"
Strange that Allan should say this, here beside the pool where he and Kathleen had stood but a few hours ago. "Kathleen never forgets!" The words sounded to Scarsdale like an ill omen, he shivered a little. Then he smiled at his own thoughts and his thoughts were—"The shame shall be this man’s, not hers. Her freedom shall come to her without a breath of scandal to touch her fair name—but she shall be free—and those ten years of waiting, ten years of constancy, ten years of love must find their reward——"
They sat down on the stone seat beside the sundial, the stillness and darkness of the garden about them, the perfume of the flowers in the air. A place to sit and dream in. Many windows were lighted in the old house, sending out friendly warm yellow rays of light into the night. From the house came the distant sound of music, a woman’s voice, deep, rich and beautiful, even more beautiful mellowed by the distance.
She was singing and both men were silent, listening.
Thank God, thank God presently he could go in and take her hand and face her, look into her eyes, with no memory of guilt and of shame to stand between them to mar the perfect understanding and the deep friendship that was so sweet to both of them.
Thank God! Thank God that he had mastered the temptation, the passion of just now! It had gone utterly. Yet he felt a great tenderness, a great love for the little maid who would have given herself as she had given her love to him.
And now Scarsdale was talking, exerting himself to talk in his low, deep, strong, man’s voice. He was trying to win this other man’s liking and friendship, for he had an object in view. On Monday, at the latest Tuesday, this little house party would break up, they would all go their separate ways and he wanted to stay, as a few hours ago realising defeat and failure, he had wanted to go. Now with a new hope in his breast he wished to remain.
What they talked of mattered little, of everyday things, of commonplaces, but Scarsdale worked steadily towards the object he had in view.
"After ten years—I went away a mere boy, I knew but a few people, my father, who is dead since then, others who have passed out of my life. I come back to England a stranger among strangers. To me London is a desert, I walk its streets, looking vainly for a familiar face; I know no one, no one who passes knows me!"