, could never
offer, passed willingly inside. For a week or two he accepted
recklessly whatever hospitalities were offered him, always with an
unacknowledged hope that chance might offer him at least a glimpse of
the woman who was destined to be the one great influence of his life.
He frequented the houses where the possibilities of meeting her seemed
best, and he listened continually and with ill-suppressed eagerness for
any mention of her name. It chanced, however, that even the latter
faint consolation was denied to him, and he neither saw anything of her
at the houses of her friends, nor came across her name in the papers
which, as a rule, never failed to chronicle her doings. At the club
they chaffed him mercilessly--a rabid tuft-hunter, or had he political
ambitions? He chaffed back again and held his own as usual, but not a
soul, save perhaps Drexley, understood him in those days. Then there
came to him one day a sudden fear. She was surely ill--or she had
disappeared. He caught up his hat and coat and walked swiftly to
Grosvenor Square.

He reached the house and stopped short in front of it. It seemed to him
to have a gloomy, almost an uninhabited appearance. For a few moments
he struggled with himself--with his pride, a vague sense of alarm every
moment growing stronger as the dismantled aspect of the house became
more apparent to him. Then he walked up the steps and rang the bell.

A servant in plain clothes answered it after a delay which was in itself
significant. He appeared surprised at Douglas's inquiry, knowing him
well as a frequent visitor at the house. The Countess had left for
abroad several days since--he believed for Russia, and for a
considerable time. The servants were all discharged and the house "to
let," he himself remained only as caretaker. Douglas walked back again
into the streets with a heart like lead and a mist before his eyes. She
had taken him at his word then--he had lost her. After all it was the
inevitable.

Mechanically at first, and afterwards with a purpose, he turned
southwards to the tiny fiat where Cicely had established herself. A
trim little maid-servant showed him into her room, and she welcomed him
with outstretched hands. Yet he saw in the dim lamplight that her
cheeks were pale and there was some measure of restraint in her
greeting.

"You have come at last, then," she said, gaily enough. "Now you must
let me give you some tea and afterwards you must tell me what y