her as some grim dragon
waiting for his inevitable surrender. He did not know what she would
do; he was beginning to realise his inexperience, but he knew that she
would never allow the affair to pass quietly away. To do him justice,
it was not so much the fear of personal exposure that frightened him;
that, of course, would be unpleasant--he would have to face the
derision of his enemies and the contempt of those people whom formerly
he had himself despised. But it was not personal contempt, it was the
disgrace to the family; the house was suddenly threatened on two
sides--his father, the Feverels--and he was frightened. He saw his
name in the papers; the Trojan name dragged through the mud because of
his own folly--Oh! it must be stopped at all costs. But the
uncertainty of it was worrying him. Ten days had passed and nothing
was done. Ten days, and he had been able to speak of it to no one; it
had haunted him all day and had spoiled his sleep; first, because he
had done something of which he was ashamed, and secondly, because he
was afraid that people might know.

There were the letters. He remembered some of the sentences now and
bit his lip. How could he have been such a fool? She must give them
back--of course she would; but there was Mrs. Feverel.

The uncertainty was torturing him--he must find out how matters were,
and suddenly, on the inspiration of the moment, he decided to go and
see Dahlia at once. Things could not be worse, and at least the
uncertainty would be ended. The golden day irritated him, and he found
the dark gloom of the Feverels' street a relief. A man was playing an
organ at the corner, and three dirty, tattered children were dancing
noisily in the middle of the road. He watched them for a moment before
ringing the bell, and wondered how they could seem so unconcerned, and
he thought them abandoned.

He found Dahlia alone in the gaudy drawing-room. She gave a little cry
when she saw who it was, and her cheeks flushed red, and then the
colour faded. He noticed that she was looking ill and rather untidy.
There were dark lines under her eyes and her mouth was drawn. There
was an awkward pause; he had sat down with his hat in his hand and he
was painfully ill at ease.

"I knew you would come back, Robin," she began at last. "Only you have
been a long time--ten days. I have never gone out, because I was
afraid that I would miss you. But I knew that you would be sorry after