And
Halcyone filled his mind. He thrilled and thrilled again as he
remembered the exquisite joy of their tender embrace--even though it had
been no real thing, but a dream, it was still the divinest good his life
had yet known.
But what could it lead to if it were real? Nothing but sorrow and
parting and regret. For his career still mattered to him, he knew, now
that he was in his sane senses again, more than anything else in the
world. And he could not burden himself with a poor, uninfluential girl
as a wife, even though the joy of it took them both to heaven.
The emotion he was experiencing was one quite new to him, and he almost
resented it, because it was upsetting some of his beliefs.
The next day, at breakfast, the Professor remarked that he looked pale.
"You rather overwork, John," he said. "To lie about the garden here and
not have to follow the caprices of fashionable ladies at Wendover, would
do you a power of good."
There was no sight of Halcyone all the day. She was living in a
paradise, but hers contained no doubts or uncertainties. She knew that
indeed she had lived and breathed the night before, and found complete
happiness in John Derringham's arms.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211