"Dear," said he, tender and eager, "I found the door open--did you leave
it for me? Why, Hermione--oh, my love, what is it?" and he would have
caught her to him, but she held him away and questioned him,
quick-breathing:
"You are--Geoffrey Ravenslee--the millionaire--aren't you?"
"Why--er--I--I'm afraid I am," he stammered. "I'm sorry you found it out
so soon, dearest; I wanted to tell you after we--"
"Oh, why didn't you tell me before--why didn't you? No--please wait!
You--you caught my--brother, didn't you?" she went on breathlessly; "he
had broken in--was burgling your house, wasn't he--wasn't he?"
"How in the world," began Ravenslee, flinching, "who told--"
"He broke into your house to--steal, didn't he--didn't he?"
"But, good heavens--that was all forgotten and done with long ago!
They'd made the poor chap drunk--he didn't know what he was doing--it's
all forgotten long ago! Dear heart, why are you so pale? God,
Hermione--nothing can alter our love!"
"No, nothing can alter our love," she repeated in the same dull tones.
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