dissipated. Then nothing remained but to go home and wait for Arthur. Her first impulse had been to see Dr. Porhoët and ask for his advice; but, even if he offered to come back with her to the studio, his presence would be useless. She must see Arthur by himself. Her heart was wrung as she thought of the man’s agony when he knew the truth. She had confessed to herself long before that she loved him passionately, and it seemed intolerable that she of all persons must bear him this great blow.
She sat in the studio counting the minutes, and thought with a bitter smile that his eagerness to see Margaret would make him punctual. She had eaten nothing since the petit déjeuner of the morning, and she was faint with hunger. But she had not the heart to make herself tea. At last he came. He entered joyfully and looked around.
“Is Margaret not here yet?” he asked, with surprise.
“Won’t you sit down?”
He did not notice that her voice was strange, nor that she kept her eyes averted.
“How lazy you are,” he cried. “You haven’t got the tea.”
“Mr. Burdon, I have something to say to you. It will cause you very great pain.”
He observed now the hoarseness of her tone. He sprang to his feet, and a thousand fancies flashed across his brain. Something horrible had happened to Margaret. She was ill. His terror was so great that he could not speak. He put out his hands as does a blind man. Susie had to make an effort to
