‘Are you sure it was he? May he not be still in his room . . . unless,’ said Mr Bailey casually, ‘you have already satisfied yourself to the contrary?’
‘Indeed, sir, I wonder at you. How is there room for question, since you yourself saw him go?’ She stared. ‘Is it possible that you doubt me?’
She looked, to Mr Bailey’s eyes, so lovely in her indignation that he was fired anew. ‘Madam, I am yours to command. As for doubting you, I would sooner doubt myself. You are in all things perfection.’ He impetuously seized her hand. ‘You are an angel. You are——’
She turned away from him. ‘Could I think you sincere,’ she said, in a low voice, ‘I would ask you to say nothing of my brother’s strange departure. Or rather to contrive some story that should make it appear less strange. If I could persuade myself that you mean even the half of what you profess, I could bear this affliction with some show of patience, and remain here, under your roof, until my brother’s return. But no, I am friendless and forsaken, and I must go from here at daybreak.’
‘What have I done,’ cried Mr Bailey, ‘how have I offended you that you can speak so cruelly of leaving my house before you must?’
She softened. She was manifestly touched. ‘Do you then wish me to stay, my poor friend?’
Her eyes dazzled him. He now possessed both her hands and stooped to kiss them. ‘With all my heart,’ he said.
A light hand stroked his hair; a word, softly spoken, caressed him. Then he was alone in the room, and the clock began striking three.