n Miss Van Tuyn, who
could, therefore--so at least he believed--know nothing of the outrage
in the studio. That piece of news which would surely be welcome to her
if she understood what it implied, should rightly come to her from the
woman who had been unselfish for her sake. Adela ought to tell her that.
But first it was his duty to tell Adela. He must go to Berkeley Square.

And he decided to go and set out on foot. But as he walked he was
conscious of a strange and hideous reluctance to pay the customary
visit--the visit which had been the bright spot in his day for so long.
He had interfered with the design of Arabian. But Arabian unconsciously
had stabbed him to the heart with a sentence, meant to be malicious,
about Adela, but surely not intended to pierce him.

Young Craven! Young Craven!

When he reached the familiar door and was standing before it he
hesitated to press the bell. He feared that he would not be perfectly
natural with Adela. He feared that he would be constrained, that he
would be unable not to seem cold and rigid. Almost he was tempted to
turn away. He could write his news to her. Perhaps even now young Craven
was in the house with her. Perhaps he, the old man, would be unwanted,
would only be in the way if he went in. But it was not his habit to
recoil from anything and, after a moment of uneasy waiting, he put his
hand to the bell.

Murgatroyd opened the door.

"Good day, Murgatroyd. Is her Ladyship at home?"

"Yes, Sir Seymour."

He stepped into the hall, left his hat, coat and stick, and prepared to
go upstairs.

"Anyone with her Ladyship?"

"No, Sir Seymour. Her Ladyship is alone."

A moment later Murgatroyd opened the drawing-room door and made the
familiar announcement:

"Sir Seymour Portman!"

Adela was as usual on the sofa by the tea-table, near to the fireplace
in which ship logs were blazing. She got up to greet him, and looked at
him eagerly, almost anxiously.

"I was hoping you would come. Has anything happened?"

"Yes, a great deal," he said, as he took her hand.

"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked.

"But--do I look at you differently from--"

"Yes," she interrupted him.

He lowered his eyes, feeling almost guilty.

"But in what way?"

"As if you wanted to know something, as if--have you changed towards
me?"

"My dear Adela! What a question from you after all these years!"

"You might change."

"Nonsense, my dear."

"No, no, it is not! Any