for it was simply a vicious little kick as she took her flight.
Grosvenor Place would not shelter her that night and would never shelter
her more: that was the reason she tried to spatter her sister with the
mud into which she herself had jumped. She would not have dared to treat
her in such a fashion if they had had a prospect of meeting again. The
strangest part of this remarkable juncture was that what ministered most
to our young lady's suppressed emotion was not the tremendous reflection
that this time Selina had really 'bolted' and that on the morrow all
London would know it: all that had taken the glare of certainty (and a
very hideous hue it was), whereas the chill that had fallen upon the
girl now was that of a mystery which waited to be cleared up. Her heart
was full of suspense--suspense of which she returned the pressure,
trying to twist it into expectation. There was a certain chance in life
that sat there beside her, but it would go for ever if it should not
move nearer that night; and she listened, she watched, for it to move. I
need not inform the reader that this chance presented itself in the
person of Mr. Wendover, who more than any one she knew had it in his
hand to transmute her detestable position. To-morrow he would know, and
would think sufficiently little of a young person of _that_ breed:
therefore it could only be a question of his speaking on the spot. That
was what she had come back into the box for--to give him his
opportunity. It was open to her to think he had asked for it--adding
everything together.

The poor girl added, added, deep in her heart, while she said nothing.
The music was not there now, to keep them silent; yet he remained quiet,
even as she did, and that for some minutes was a part of her addition.
She felt as if she were running a race with failure and shame; she would
get in first if she should get in before the degradation of the morrow.
But this was not very far off, and every minute brought it nearer. It
would be there in fact, virtually, that night, if Mr. Wendover should
begin to realise the brutality of Selina's not turning up at all. The
comfort had been, hitherto, that he didn't realise brutalities. There
were certain violins that emitted tentative sounds in the orchestra;
they shortened the time and made her uneasier--fixed her idea that he
could lift her out of her mire if he would. It didn't appear to prove
that he would, his also observing Lady Ringrose's empty