remove from him the odious feelings he must
have, that she, Barbara Caradoc, was a vulgar enchantress, a common
traitress and coquette! And his letter--without a syllable of reproach!
Her cheeks burned so, that she could not help trying to hide them from
people who passed.

As she drew nearer to his rooms she walked slower, forcing herself to
think what she should do, what she should let him do! But she continued
resolutely forward. She would not shrink now--whatever came of it! Her
heart fluttered, seemed to stop beating, fluttered again. She set her
teeth; a sort of desperate hilarity rose in her. It was an adventure!
Then she was gripped by the feeling that had come to her on the roof.
The whole thing was bizarre, ridiculous! She stopped, and drew the letter
from her glove. It might be ridiculous, but it was due from her; and
closing her lips very tight, she walked on. In thought she was already
standing close to him, her eyes shut, waiting, with her heart beating
wildly, to know what she would feel when his lips had spoken, perhaps
touched her face or hand. And she had a sort of mirage vision of
herself, with eyelashes resting on her cheeks, lips a little parted, arms
helpless at her sides. Yet, incomprehensibly, his figure was invisible.
She discovered then that she was standing before his door.

She rang the bell calmly, but instead of dropping her hand, pressed the
little bare patch of palm left open by the glove to her face, to see
whether it was indeed her own cheek flaming so.

The door had been opened by some unseen agency, disclosing a passage and
flight of stairs covered by a red carpet, at the foot of which lay an
old, tangled, brown-white dog full of fleas and sorrow. Unreasoning
terror seized on Barbara; her body remained rigid, but her spirit began
flying back across the Green Park, to the very hall of Valleys House.
Then she saw coming towards her a youngish woman in a blue apron, with
mild, reddened eyes.

"Is this where Mr. Courtier lives?"

"Yes, miss." The teeth of the young woman were few in number and rather
black; and Barbara could only stand there saying nothing, as if her body
had been deserted between the sunlight and this dim red passage, which
led to-what?

The woman spoke again:

"I'm sorry if you was wanting him, miss, he's just gone away."

Barbara felt a movement in her heart, like the twang and quiver of an
elastic band, suddenly relaxed. She bent to stroke the hea