He looked down at her with the tenderness one accords a child, ignorantly pleading to have its way. He knew Nan's temperament--knew that, in spite of all her courage, when the moment of exaltation had passed not even love itself could make up for the bitterness of its price, if bought at such a cost. He pictured her exposed to the slights of those whose position was still unassailable, waiting drearily at Continental watering-places till the decree absolute should be pronounced, and finally, restored to respectability in so far as marriage with him could make it possible, but always liable to be unpleasantly reminded, as she went through life, that there had been a time when she had outraged convention. It was unthinkable! It would break her utterly. "Even if that were all, it still wouldn't be possible," he said gently. "You don't know what you would have to face. And I couldn't let you face it. But it isn't all. . . . There's honour, dear, and duty. . . ." Her gaze met his in dreary interrogation. "Then--then, you'll go away?" Her voice faltered, broke. "Yes, I shall go away . . . out of your life." He fell silent a moment. Then, with an effort, he went on: "This is good-bye. We mustn't see each other again--" "No, no," she broke in a little wildly. "Don't go, Peter, I can't bear it." She clung to him, repeating piteously: "Don't go . . . don't go!" He stooped and pressed his lips to her hair, holding her in his arms. "My dear!" he murmured. "My very dear!" And so they remained for a little space. Presently she lifted her face, white and strained, to his. "_Must_ you go, Peter?" "Heart's beloved, there is no other way. We may not love . . . and we can't be together and not love. . . . So I must go." She lay very still in his arms for a moment. Then he felt a long, shuddering sigh run through her body. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes. . . . Peter, go very quickly. . . ." He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the mouth--not passionately, but with the ineffably sad calmness of farewell. "God keep you, dear," he said. The door closed behind him, shutting him from her sight, and she stood for a few moments staring dazedly at its wooden panels. Then, with a sudden desperate impulse, she tore it open again and peered out. But there was only silence--silence and emptiness. He had gone. CHAPTER XXVII THE DARK ANGEL The following morning Ralph and Penelope breakfasted alone, the latter having given orders that Nan was on no account to be disturbed. It was rather a dreary meal. They were each oppressed by the knowledge which last night had revealed to them--the knowledge of the tragedy of love into which their two friends had been thrust by circumstances. On their return from the concert at the Albert Hall they had encountered Mallory in the vestibule of the Mansions, and the naked misery stamped upon his face had arrested them at once. "Peter, what is it?"