She dared not yet face the question she had seen he was about to ask.

Power--yes, he could give her that; but power was the craving of an ambitious soul.
There were other things.

There was the desire of the heart, the longing which came with music and the whispering trees and the bright stars, the girlish dreams of ardent love and the garlands of youth and joy--and Ian Stafford.
Suddenly she drew herself together.

She was conscious that the servant was entering the room with a letter.
"The messenger is waiting," the servant said.
With an apology she opened the note slowly as Byng turned to the fire.
She read the page with a strange, tense look, closing her eyes at last with a slight sense of dizziness.

Then she said to the servant: "Tell the messenger to wait.