Randal did not come near. He was holding the bond given to Ormond.
“It is ended, I think. People speak of Kiliat, Effie. Will you tell me if there is any truth in what they say?”
Effie spread her little bare hands on Ormond’s old table-cloth with the tobacco-burns in it.
“When you see a ring there it will be time enough to ask me of Mr. Kiliat,” she said, with a quaint dignity. “Your letter made me very angry, Guy. I have never doubted you.”
Randal looked at her steadily—at the white fur round throat and wrists; at the delicate flushed face with the wide sweet eyes; at the dainty figure and hands. His skin burnt suddenly.
“The cases are hardly parallel,” he said, dryly.
“Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish I could understand you! You say you love me, and when we’re together you don’t seem to like it a little bit, you dear old silly boy! I never bother about the future a scrap, Guy. It mightn’t ever come, you know. And when we’re together it’s just the now, dear———”
“Effie—don’t———”
The thrown-back face was laughing between the out-held curved arms.
“Guy, dear Guy—it’s just the now that matters, isn’t it?”
