have done. But you see, I promised never to--I
can't speak to anyone else. I might have gone to Dick Garstin perhaps.
. . . I don't know! But as it is I can't speak to a soul but you."

"Is it something about that man?"

"Yes. I'm afraid of him."

"Why?"

"I'm sure he doesn't mean to--I'm sure he won't give me up easily. I
know he won't!"

"Sit down, Beryl."

"Yes--may I?"

"Have you seen him?"

"Oh, no--no!"

"Has he written?"

"Yes. And he has called to-day. Last night directly I got back to the
hotel I gave orders at the bureau that if he called they were to say
'not at home.'"

"Well then--"

"But he got in!"

"How could he?"

"When they said I was out he asked for Fanny--Fanny Cronin, my
companion. He sent up his card to her, and as I hadn't spoken to
her--you know I promised not to say anything--she told them to let him
come up. She likes him!"

"And were you in the hotel?"

"No, thank God I was really out. But I came back while he was still
there."

"Then--"

"No, I didn't see him, as I told you. When I was just going up in the
lift, something--it was almost like second sight, I think--prompted me
to go to the bureau and ask if anyone was in our rooms. And they told me
_he_ was with Fanny, had been with her for over an hour."

"What did you do?"

"I went out at once. I called on one or two people, I stayed out till
nearly half-past seven. I walked about in the dark. I was afraid to go
near the hotel. It was horrible. Finally I thought he must have gone and
I ventured to go back. I hurried through the hall. The lift was there.
I went into it at once. I didn't look round. I was afraid he might have
come down and be waiting about for me. When I got to our apartment I
went straight to my bedroom and rang for my maid. She said he was gone.
Then I went to Fanny. He had been having tea with her and had stayed two
hours. He had--she's very foolish, poor old thing!--he had completely
fascinated her."

Suddenly she blushed violently.

"I have no right to say that about Fanny. But I mean he had laid himself
out to--"

"I quite understand," said Lady Sellingworth, with a sort of awkward
dryness which she could not evade though she hated herself for it.

It was hideous, she felt, being mixed up with this old Miss Cronin and
Beryl Van Tuyn in a sort of horrible sisterhood of victims of this vile
man's fascination. Her flesh crept at the indignity of it, and all
her patrician pride revolted