A sleepy-eyed porter opened the door of the car outside the Milan Court.
Naida gathered herself together with a little shiver.
"I think that after to-night," she said quietly, "there need be no
secrets between any of us."
Nigel held her hand in his. Their eyes met, and both of them were
conscious, in that moment, of closer personal relations, of the passing
of a certain sense of strain. She even smiled as she turned away.
"To-morrow," she concluded, "there must be a great exchange of
confidences. I am lunching at Belgrave Square, if Maggie has not
forgotten, and I shall tell you then what I have written to Paul
Matinsky. I showed it to Prince Shan yesterday. Good night!"
She patted Maggie's hand affectionately and flitted away. The revolving
doors closed behind her, and the car swung out once more into the
Strand, glided down the Mall, past Buckingham Palace, and stopped at
last before the great, lifeless house in Belgrave Square. Nigel opened
the front door with a latchkey and turned on the light.
"You won't mind sparing me a few minutes?" he begged.
"I suppose not," she answered, shivering.
He led the way to the study. She threw off her cloak and sank into the
depths of one of the big easy-chairs. She looked very frail and rather
pathetic as she leaned her head against the chair back. Now that the
excitement was over, the strain of the emotion she had experienced
showed in the violet shadows under her eyes and in the droop of her
shoulders.
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