The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. This person was speedily followed by half a dozen others, some of whom carried flambeaux. They were so good to me. . The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. . CHAPTER XVI.
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