Oh, it was well to love a man like that, a man born to tower over
his fellow men--and well to die for him! Could she let her miserable
existence interfere with such a life as his should be? Never, never!
There should be no "public scandal" on her account.
She drew her veil over her face, and inquired the way from the House.
Presently she was outside. By one of the gateways, and in the shadow of
its pillars, she stopped, watching the members of the House stream past
her. Many of them were talking together, and once or twice she caught
the sound of Geoffrey's name, coupled with such words as "splendid
speech," and other terms of admiration.
"Move on, move on," said a policeman to her. Lifting her veil, Beatrice
turned and looked at him, and muttering something he moved on himself,
leaving her in peace. Presently she saw Geoffrey and the gentleman who
had been so kind to her walking along together. They came through the
gateway; the lappet of his coat brushed her arm, and he never saw her.
Closer she crouched against the pillar, hiding herself in its shadow.
Within six feet of her Geoffrey stopped and lit a cigar.
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