in front of the house-door, she kept up the tension.
But when the young man had fitted the key in the lock and turned it,
she looked at him, and, for the first time this night, gave him her
full attention.

"Good night--my friend!"

She was leaning against the woodwork; beneath the lace scarf, her eyes
were bent on him with a strange expression. Maurice looked down into
them, and, for a second or two, held them with his own, in one of those
looks which are not for ordinary use between a man and a woman. Louise
shivered under it, and gave a nervous laugh; the next moment, she made
a slight movement towards him, an involuntary movement, which was so
imperceptible as to be hardly more than an easing of her position
against the doorway, and yet was unmistakable--as unmistakable as was
the little upward motion with which she resigned herself at the outset
of a dance. For an instant, his heart stopped beating; in a flash he
knew that this was the solution: there was only one ending to this
night of longing and excitement, and that was to take her in his arms,
as she stood, to hold her to him in an infinite embrace, till his own
nerves were stilled, and the madness had gone from her. But the
returning beat of his blood brought the knowledge that a morrow must
surely come--a morrow for both of them--a cold, grey day to be faced
and borne. She was not herself, in the bonds of her unnatural
excitement; it was for him to be wise.

He took her limply hanging hand, and looked at her gravely and kindly.

"You are very tired."

At his voice, the wild light died out of her eyes; she seemed to shrink
into herself. "Yes, very tired. And oh, so cold!"

"Can't you get a cup of tea?--something to warm you?"

But she did not hear him; she was already on the stair. He waited till
her steps had died away, then went headlong down the street. But, when
he came to think things over, he did not pride himself on the
self-control he had displayed. On the contrary, he was tormented by the
wish to know what she would have said or done had he yielded to his
impulse; and, for the remainder of the night, his brain lost itself in
a maze of hazardous conjecture. Only when day broke, a cheerless
February day, was he satisfied that he could not have acted differently.

Upstairs, in her room, Louise lay face downwards on her bed, and there,
her arms thrown wildly out over the pillows, all the froth and
intoxication of the evening gone from her--there