nutes she could not decide to make use of it; at last she let herself
in and left the door open that anyone who came might see she was there on
business.

This was not the same June who had paid the trembling visit five months
ago; those months of suffering and restraint had made her less sensitive;
she had dwelt on this visit so long, with such minuteness, that its
terrors were discounted beforehand. She was not there to fail this time,
for if she failed no one could help her.

Like some mother beast on the watch over her young, her little quick
figure never stood still in that room, but wandered from wall to wall,
from window to door, fingering now one thing, now another. There was
dust everywhere, the room could not have been cleaned for weeks, and
June, quick to catch at anything that should buoy up her hope, saw in it
a sign that he had been obliged, for economy's sake, to give up his
servant.

She looked into the bedroom; the bed was roughly made, as though by the
hand of man. Listening intently, she darted in, and peered into his
cupboards. A few shirts and collars, a pair of muddy boots--the room was
bare even of garments.

She stole back to the sitting-room, and now she noticed the absence of
all the little things he had set store by. The clock that had been his
mother's, the field-glasses that had hung over the sofa; two really
valuable old prints of Harrow, where his father had been at school, and
last, not least, the piece of Japanese pottery she herself had given him.
All were gone; and in spite of the rage roused within her championing
soul at the thought that the world should treat him thus, their
disappearance augured happily for the success of her plan.

It was while looking at the spot where the piece of Japanese pottery had
stood that she felt a strange certainty of being watched, and, turning,
saw Irene in the open doorway.

The two stood gazing at each other for a minute in silence; then June
walked forward and held out her hand. Irene did not take it.

When her hand was refused, June put it behind her. Her eyes grew steady
with anger; she waited for Irene to speak; and thus waiting, took in,
with who-knows-what rage of jealousy, suspicion, and curiosity, every
detail of her friend's face and dress and figure.

Irene was clothed in her long grey fur; the travelling cap on her head
left a wave of gold hair visible above her forehead. The soft fullness
of the coat made her face as sma