In her agitation she had dropped her glove. Melrose picked it up.
"On that I think, Lady Tatham, we will say farewell. I regret I have not
been able to oblige you. My wife comes from a needy class--accustomed to
manage on a little. My daughter has not been brought up to luxury. Had
she remained with me, of course, the case would have been different. But
you will find they will do very well on what I have provided for them. I
advise you not to waste your pity. And as for Mr. Faversham, he will take
good care of himself. He frames excellently. And I hope before long to
see him married--to a very suitable young lady."
They remained looking at each other, for a few seconds, in silence. Then
Victoria said quietly, with a forward step:
"I bid you good evening."
He stood at the door, his fingers on the handle, his eyes glittering and
malicious.
"I should have liked to have shown you some of my little collections,"
he said, smiling. "That _verre eglomisee_, for instance"--he pointed to
it--"it's magnificent, though rather decadent. They have nothing like it
in London or Paris. Really--you must go?"
He threw the door open, bowing profoundly.
"Dixon!"
A voice responded from the farther end of the corridor.
"Tell her ladyship's car to come round. Excuse my coming to the door,
Lady Tatham. I am an old man."
The car sped once more through the gloom of the park. Victoria sat with
hands locked on her knee, possessed by the after tremors of battle.
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