As Florence reaches the door she pauses and stoops to examine the lock.
"I wish," she says to Sir Adrian, a strange subdued excitement in her
tone, "you would remove this lock. Do."
"But why?" he asks, impressed in spite of himself, by her manner.
"I hardly know myself; it is a fancy--an unaccountable one, perhaps--but
still a powerful one. Do be guided by me, and have it removed."
"What--the fancy?" he asks, laughing.
"No--the lock. Humor me in this," she pleads earnestly, far more
earnestly than the occasion seems to warrant. "Call it a silly
presentiment, if you like, but I honestly think that lock will work you
evil some day. Therefore it is that I ask you to do away with it."
"You ask me?" he queries.
"Yes, if only to please me--for my sake."
She has evidently forgotten her late distrust of him, for she speaks now
in the old sweet tone, and with tears in her eyes. Sir Adrian flushes
warmly.
"For your sake," he whispers. "What is there I would not do, if thus
requested?"
A bitter sneer contracts Arthur Dynecourt's lips as he listens to the
first part of this conversation and guesses at the latter half. He notes
correctly the kindling of their eyes, the quick breath that comes and
goes like happy sighs from the breast of Florence. He hears the whisper,
sees the warm blush, and glances expressively at Dora.
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