to inhibit her will. And Craven? What could he be thinking about her?
She knew he was a sensitive man. What must he be thinking? That she had
asked him to come all the way to Glebe Place merely in order that he
might see her in deep conversation with another man. And she had not
even spoken to him. He would be furious. She remembered his face. He was
furious. By what she had done she had certainly alienated Craven.

And her father was dead!

She leaned back in the darkness of the cab, feeling weak and miserable,
almost terrified. Surely Fate had her in a tight grip. She remembered
Arabian's question: would it be necessary for her to go to America? Her
father was very rich. She was his only child. He must certainly have
left her a great deal of his money, for his second wife was wealthy and
would not need it. There might be business to do which would necessitate
her presence in New York. At that moment she almost wished for an urgent
summons from the New World. A few hours in a train, the crossing of a
gang-plank, the hoot of a siren, and she would be free from all
these complications! The sea would lie between her and Arabian--Adela
Sellingworth--Craven. She would stay away for months. She would not come
back at all.

But this man, Arabian, would he let her go without a word, without doing
something? Would his strange and horrible reserve last till her ship was
at sea? She could not believe it. If she made up her mind to sail, and
he knew it, he would speak, act. Something would happen. There would be
some revelation of character, of intention. She was sure of it. Arabian
was a man who could wait--but not for ever.

She still seemed to feel the pulse beating in his warm hand as she drove
through the rain and the darkness.

PART SIX

CHAPTER I

Mrs. Ackroyde had a pretty little house in Upper Grosvenor Street,
but she spent a good deal of her time in a country house which she had
bought at Coombe close to London. She was always there from Saturday to
Monday, when she was not paying visits or abroad, and Coombe Hall, as
her place was called, was a rallying ground for members of the "old
guard." Invariably guests came down on the Sunday to lunch and tea.
Bridge was the great attraction for some. For others there were lawn
tennis and golf. And often there was good music. For Mrs. Ackroyde was
an excellent musician as well as an ardent card-player.

Lady Sellingworth had occasionally been to Coombe Hall,