Just before dinner he went into the widow's sitting-room. She was alone, Marie had said in the passage--resting, she thought, but madame would certainly see milord. She had given orders for him to be admitted should he come. "Now sit down near me, beau jeune homme," Mrs. McBride commanded from the depths of her sofa, where she was reclining, arrayed in exquisite billows of chiffon and lace. "I have been expecting you. It is not because I have been indulging in a little sentiment myself that my eyes are glued shut--you have a great deal to confess--and I hope we have not done too much harm between us." Hector wanted sympathy, and there was something in the widow's directness which he felt would soothe him. He knew her good heart. He could speak freely to her, too, without being troubled by an over-delicacy of _mauvaise honte_, as he would have been with an Englishwoman. It would not have seemed sacrilege to the widow to discuss with him--who was a friend--the finest and most tender sentiments of her own, or any one else's, heart. He drew up a _bergere_ and kissed her hand. "I have been behaving like a damned scoundrel," he said. "My gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. McBride, with a violent jerk into a sitting position. "You don't say--" Then, for the first time for many years, a deep scarlet blush overspread Hector's face, even up to his forehead--as he realized how she had read his speech--how most people of the world would have read it. He got up from his chair and walked to the window. "Oh, good God!" he said, "I don't mean that." The widow fell back into her pillows with a sigh of relief. "I mean I have deliberately tried to make her unhappy, and I have succeeded--and myself, too." "That is not so bad then," and she settled a cushion. "Because unhappiness is only a thing for a time. You are crazy for the moon, and you can't get it, and you grieve and curse for a little, and then a new moon arises. What else?" "Well, I want you to sympathize with me, and tell me what I had better do. Shall I go back to England to-morrow morning, or stay for the dinner-party?" "You got as far, then, as telling each other you loved each other madly--and are both suffering from broken hearts, after one week's acquaintance." "Don't be so brutal!" pleaded Hector. And she noticed that his face looked haggard and changed. So her shrewd, kind eyes beamed upon him. "Yes, I dare say it hurts; but having broken up your cake, you can't go on eating it. Why, in Heaven's name, did you let affairs get to a climax?" "Because I am mad," said Hector, and he stretched out his arms. "I cannot tell you how much I love her. Haven't you seen for yourself what a darling she is? Every dear word she speaks shows her beautiful soul, and it all creeps right into my heart. I worship her as I might an angel, but I want her in my arms."