r--the one woman whom he would most have
chosen to have met in an attitude that was dignified. She entered the
drawing-room and was lost to sight. But she had left the door ajar and
he heard Maisie's delighted exclamation, "Why, Di, what brings you here
so late? This is darling of you!" His position was elaborately false. It
grew more false every minute he delayed. He foresaw himself apologizing
and being explained. He had no appetite for explanations. Since he had
adventured into Mulberry Tree Court, he had twice been tempted to bolt
for safety. Now that he was tempted for a third time, he acted blindly
on the impulse. Having played the role of butler with too much
discretion, he seized his hat and, without a thought of ceremony,
adopted a butler's mode of escaping.

III

In the shrouded emptiness of the London night he felt himself free
again. He came into possession of himself and found that he could think
with his old definite clearness. In the last few hours events had rushed
him off his feet; he had no sooner realized their significance than he
had discovered himself in the throes of a new crisis. Now, for the
moment, he stood aloof and could consider his actions in their true
perspective.

As he turned out of Mulberry Tree Court, he had thought he had heard a
voice calling after him. "Lord Taborley! Lord Taborley!" He had looked
back across the imitation village-green, where the white posts showed
dimly like smudges of chalk. The door of Maisie's house had been opened
wide, making a lozenge of gold against the blackness. He had fancied
that he had seen her standing there framed, leaning out, and
then----Yes, surely he had heard the running of slippered feet along the
pavement. He had not waited. He scarcely knew from what he was
escaping--perhaps from his fate, from which there is ultimately no
escape. He seized his respite, however, for the dread of recapture was
strong upon him.

And now all hint of pursuit had died out. Tall houses stood muted
against the sky; dim trees cast a leafy obscurity; stars glinted
remotely like diamonds set in gun-metal. He found a healing chastity in
his sudden aloneness; it roused in him an almost angry desire to recover
his lost monasticism.

He was amused to discover himself speculating as to whether women were
worth the trouble they occasioned. They coerced men with sentimental
arguments to which there were no replies. They wore away men's fortitude
with the continual f