She was only half awake, and she held up her soft, white arms to him, gleaming like marble through the lace of her wide sleeves. She looked up at him with the faint smile of a child.
He stooped down, and her arms closed around him like a soft yoke. But he kissed her forehead so lightly that she scarcely realized that this was almost his first caress.
She sat up, and the lamplight fell upon his face.
"You have been ill," she cried in a shocked tone.
"It is nothing. I am well. But to-night--I had a shock; I saw you with--Mr. Thorndyke!"
Her eyes met his. The hideous phantom which had been dogging his steps was slain. He was ashamed of that awful but nameless fear.
"It is true. Mr. Thorndyke has offered me an apology, which I am forced to believe sincere. He has asked me to be his wife! I was sorry for him."
"He is a bad man! He has spoken ill of you! He has already a wife!"
"I am glad of it. I can obey my instincts now, and see him no more. Personally he is distasteful to me! I had an idea he was honest! It is nothing!"
She dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. To her it was altogether a minor matter. Then she looked at him.
"You will find a message at your rooms when you get back."
He walked up and down the room. He knew at once that all he had done hitherto had been in vain. The battle was still before him. She sat and watched him with an inscrutable smile. Once as he passed her, she laid her hand upon his arm. He stopped at once.
"Your white flower was born to die and to wither," she said. "A night's frost would have killed it as surely as the lowland air. It is like these violets." She took a bunch from her bosom. "This morning they were fresh and beautiful. Now they are crushed and faded! Yet they have lived their life."
"Do you think a woman is like that?" she said softly. "You are very, very ignorant! She has a soul."
"A soul to keep white and pure. A soul to give back--to God!"
Again she smiled at him slowly, and shook her dark head. "You are like a child in some things! You have lived so long amongst the dry bones of scholarship, that you have lost your touch upon humanity. And of us women, you know--so very little. You have tried to understand us from books. How foolish! You must be my disciple, and I will teach you."