proof that Bevis was not at home, and that
the stranger must have come forth from the flat opposite his. But she
recollected the incident which had so alarmingly disturbed her and her
lover yesterday. Bevis did not then go to the door, and suppose--oh, it
was folly! But suppose that woman had been with him; suppose he did not
care to open to a visitor whose signal sounded only a minute or two
after that person's departure?

Had she not anguish enough to endure without the addition of frantic
jealousy? She would not give another thought to such absurd
suggestions. The woman had of course come from the dwelling opposite.
Yet why might she not have been in Bevis's flat when he himself was
absent? Suppose her an intimate to whom he had entrusted a latch-key.
If any such connection existed, might it not help to explain Bevis's
half-heartedness?

To think thus was courting madness. Unable to sit still any longer,
Monica left the shop, and strayed for some ten minutes about the
neighbouring streets, drawing nearer and nearer to her goal. Finally
she entered the building and went upstairs. On this occasion no one met
her, and no one entered in her rear. She knocked at her lover's door,
and stood longing, praying, that it might open. But it did not. Tears
started to her eyes; she uttered a moan of bitterest disappointment,
and slipped the envelope she was carrying into the letter-box.

The mechanic had seen her go in, and he waited outside, a few yards
away. Either she would soon reappear, or her not doing so would show
that she had obtained admittance somewhere. In the latter case, this
workman of much curiosity and leisure had only to lurk about the
staircase until she came forth again. But this trial of patience was
spared him. He found that he had simply to follow the lady back to
Herne Hill. Acting on very suggestive instructions, it never occurred
to the worthy man that the lady's second visit was not to the same flat
as in the former instance.

Monica was home again long before dinner-time. When that hour arrived
her husband had not yet come; the delay, no doubt, was somehow
connected with his visit to Mr. Newdick. But this went on. At nine
o'clock Monica still sat alone, hungry, yet scarce conscious of hunger
owing to her miseries. Widdowson had never behaved thus. Another
quarter of an hour and she heard the front door open.

He came to the drawing-room, where she sat waiting.

'How late you are! Are you alone?'