But he came at once to help her out of the carriage. Her
face was invisible, but he knew her, and he greeted her in a rather shaky
voice. She could see that he was deeply moved, and thanked him for his
many inquiries.
"But why are you still in London?" she said.
"You are still in London," he replied.
She was about to say good-bye on the door-step; but he kept her hand in
his and said:
"Let me come in and speak to you for a moment."
"Very well," she said.
When they were in the drawing-room she still kept the veil over her face,
and remained standing.
"Sir Donald," she said, "you cared for me, I know; you were fond of me."
"Were?" he answered.
"Yes--were. I am no longer the woman you--other people--cared for."
"If there is any change--" he began.
"I know. You are going to say it is not in the woman, the real woman. But
I say it is. The change is in what, to men, is the real woman. This
change has destroyed any feeling my husband may have had for me."
"It could never destroy mine," Sir Donald said quietly.
"Yes, it could--yours especially, because you are a worshipper of beauty,
and Fritz never worshipped anything except himself. I am going to let you
say good-bye to me without seeing me. Remember me as I was."
"But--what do you mean? You speak as if you would no longer go into the
world."
"I go into the world! You haven't seen me, Sir Donald."
She saw an expression of nervous apprehension come into his face as he
glanced at her veil.
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