hed I
could see you.'

'I am going--to make a call in this neighbourhood--'

She could not command herself. The shock had left her trembling, and
the necessity of feigning calmness was a new trial of her nerves.
Barfoot, she felt certain, was reading her face like a printed page; he
saw guilt there; his quickly-averted eyes, his peculiar smile, seemed
to express the facile tolerance of a man of the world.

'Allow me to accompany you to the end of the street.'

His words buzzed in her ears. She walked on without conscious effort,
like an automaton obedient to a touch.

'You know that Miss Nunn has gone down into Cumberland?' Barfoot was
saying, his look bent upon her.

'Yes. I know.'

She tried to glance at him with a smile.

'To-morrow,' he pursued, 'I am going there myself.'

'To Cumberland?'

'I shall see her, I hope. Perhaps she will only be angry with me.'

'Perhaps. But perhaps not.'

Her confusion would not be overcome. She felt a burning in her ears, on
her neck. It was an agony of shame. The words she spoke sounded
imbecile mutterings, which must confirm Barfoot in his worst opinion of
her.

'If it is all in vain,' he continued, 'then I shall say good-bye, and
there's an end.'

'I hope not--I should think--'

Useless. She set her lips and became mute. If only he would leave her!
And almost immediately he did so, with a few words of kind tone. She
felt the pressure of his hand, and saw him walk rapidly away; doubtless
he knew this was what she desired.

Until he had passed out of sight, Monica kept the same direction. Then
she turned round and hurried back, fearful lest the detention might
make her late, and Bevis might lose hope of her coming. There could be
no one in the building now whom she need fear to meet. She opened the
big entrance door and went up.

Bevis must have been waiting for the sound of her light footstep; his
door flew open before she could knock. Without speaking, a silent laugh
of joy upon his lips, he drew back to make room for her entrance, and
then pressed both her hands.

In the sitting-room were beginnings of disorder. Pictures had been
taken down from the walls and light ornaments removed.

'I shan't sleep here after to-night,' Bevis began, his agitation
scarcely less obvious than Monica's. 'To-morrow I shall be packing what
is to go with me. How I hate it all!'

Monica dropped into a chair near the door.

'Oh, not there!' he exclaimed. 'Here, where you sat