They belonged not to the life moving round her, but were shining in
a land of their own, a land of promise. By an instinct in each of them
they stood listening for a moment to the last strains of the opera. The
light leaped higher in Hylda's eyes.
"Beautiful--oh, so beautiful!" she said, her hand touching the Duchess's
arm.
The Duchess gave the slim warm fingers a spasmodic little squeeze. "Yes,
darling, beautiful," she rejoined; and then the crowd began to pour out
behind them.
Their carriages were at the door. Lord Windlehurst put Hylda in. "The
House is up," he said. "You are going on somewhere?"
"No--home," she said, and smiled into his old, kind, questioning eyes.
"Home!"
"Home!" he murmured significantly as he turned towards the Duchess and
her carriage. "Home!" he repeated, and shook his head sadly.
"Shall I drive you to your house?" the Duchess asked.
"No, I'll go with you to your door, and walk back to my cell. Home!" he
growled to the footman, with a sardonic note in the voice.
As they drove away, the Duchess turned to him abruptly.
Pages:
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659