For one moment her lips clung to his with all their might. She wrenched
them away, felt for the handle blindly, opened the door, and, shutting it
in his face, went slowly, swaying a little, down the stairs. She trailed
a gloved hand along the wall, as if its solidity could help her. At the
last half-landing, where a curtain hung, dividing off back premises, she
stopped and listened. There wasn't a sound. 'If I stand here behind
this curtain,' she thought, 'I shall see him again.' She slipped behind
the curtain, close drawn but for a little chink. It was so dark there
that she could not see her own hand. She heard the door open, and his
slow footsteps coming down the stairs. His feet, knees, whole figure
came into sight, his face just a dim blur. He passed, smoking a
cigarette. She crammed her hand against her mouth to stop herself from
speaking and the crushed gardenia filled her nostrils with its cold,
fragrant velvet. He was gone, the door below was shut. A wild,
half-stupid longing came on her to go up again, wait till he came in,
throw herself upon him, tell him she was going, beg him to keep her with
him. Ah! and he would! He would look at her with that haggard pity she
could not bear, and say, "Of course, Leila, of course." No! By God, no!
"I am going quietly home," she muttered; "just quietly home! Come along,
be brave; don't be a fool! Come along!" And she went down into the
street: At the entrance to the Park she saw him, fifty yards in front,
dawdling along. And, as if she had been his shadow lengthened out to
that far distance, she moved behind him. Slowly, always at that
distance, she followed him under the plane-trees, along the Park
railings, past St. James's Palace, into Pall Mall. He went up some
steps, and vanished into his Club. It was the end. She looked up at the
building; a monstrous granite tomb, all dark. An emptied cab was just
moving from the door. She got in. "Camelot Mansions, St. John's Wood."
And braced against the cushions, panting, and clenching her hands, she
thought: 'Well, I've seen him again. Hard crust's better than no bread.
Oh, God! All finished--not a crumb, not a crumb! Vive-la, vive-la,
vive-la ve. Vive-la compagnie!'

XIV

Fort had been lying there about an hour, sleeping and awake, before that
visit: He had dreamed a curious and wonderfully emotionalising dream. A
long grey line, in a dim light, neither of night nor morning, the whole
len