Eunice's terrible outbreak, was far more
serious than I had anticipated. I was myself depressed and ill at
ease. No expressions of tenderness were exchanged between us. There was
something horrible in our barren farewell. We merely clasped hands, at
parting. He went his way--and I went mine.

There are some occasions when women set an example of courage to men. I
was ready to endure whatever might happen to me, when I got home. What
a desperate wretch! some people might say, if they could look into this
diary!

Maria opened the door; she told me that my sister had already returned,
accompanied by Miss Jillgall. There had been apparently some difference
of opinion between them, before they entered the house. Eunice
had attempted to go on to some other place; and Miss Jillgall
had remonstrated. Maria had heard her say: "No, you would degrade
yourself"--and, with that, she had led Eunice indoors. I understood, of
course, that my sister had been prevented from following Philip to the
hotel. There was probably a serious quarrel in store for me. I went
straight to the bedroom, expecting to find Eunice there, and prepared
to brave the storm that might burst on me. There was a woman at Eunice's
end of the room, removing dresses from the wardrobe. I could only see
her back, but it was impossible to mistake _that_ figure--Miss Jillgall.
She laid the dresses on Eunice's bed, without taking the slightest
notice of me. In significant silence I pointed to the door. She went
on as coolly with her occupation as if the room had been, not mine but
hers; I stepped up to her, and spoke plainly.

"You oblige me to remind you," I said, "that you are not in your own
room." There, I waited a little, and found that I had produced no
effect. "With every disposition," I resumed, "to make allowance for
the disagreeable peculiarities of your character, I cannot consent to
overlook an act of intrusion, committed by a Spy. Now, do you understand
me?"

She looked round her. "I see no third person here," she said. "May I ask
if you mean me?"

"I mean you."

"Will you be so good, Miss Helena, as to explain yourself?"

Moderation of language would have been thrown away on this woman. "You
followed me to the park," I said. "It was you who found me with Mr.
Dunboyne, and betrayed me to my sister. You are a Spy, and you know it.
At this very moment you daren't look me in the face."

Her insolence forced its way out of her at last. Let me record it