accordingly went, choosing a
time between half-past two and three when she was most likely to be in.
As he reached her door, it was being held open for her to go out, and
she was standing in the outer hall buttoning her gloves. She drew back
when she saw Ted, but escape was impossible. He saw the movement and the
flash of her little white teeth as she bit her lip with annoyance.

She came forward smiling.

"Oh, is it you, Ted? As you see, I'm just going out."

"You will see me before you go?"

"I can't possibly. I've got to go and call on an uncle and aunt at the
Hotel Metropole."

"I'm very sorry. But I won't keep you more than ten minutes."

"I can't spare ten minutes. I'm late as it is, and I have to be back by
half-past three. I've got an appointment."

"You've not time to get there and back. You'd better put it off."

"I can't, Ted. They're only up from Friday till Monday. Dean Craven has
to preach at the Abbey to-morrow. Come again."

"I can't come again."

"Well, then----" she hesitated. "You may walk part of the way with me."

He went with her down the short flagged path that led to the gate. Once
out of the servant's hearing, he stopped, and looked firmly in her face.

"I must see you now, and it had better be in the house. I've only one
question to ask you. Five minutes will be enough for that--at least it
won't be my fault if it isn't."

She had laid her hand on the gate, which Ted held shut, and her mouth
was obstinately set. Something in his voice conquered her self-will. She
turned and led the way to the house.

"You had better come into the morning-room."

He followed her; she closed the door, and they stood facing each other a
moment without speaking.

"Well, Ted?" Her voice went to his heart with its piercing sweetness.

"Audrey, why did you write that letter?"

"Because it was easier to write what I did than to say it. Do you want
to hold me to my word?"

"No. I want to know your reasons for breaking it. You haven't given me
any yet."

"I did, Ted. I told you it had all been a mistake--yours and mine."

"Speak for yourself. Where was my mistake?"

"The mistake was in our ever getting engaged at all--in our thinking
that we cared for each other."

"I cared enough for you, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't. You only thought you did. Katherine told me----"

"What did Katherine tell you?"

"That you hadn't any feelings, that you really cared for nothing but
your painting, that y