fatigue, excitement would not allow him more than a snatch of sleep now
and then. When at length he stepped out at Dunfield, he was in sorry
plight. He went to an hotel, refreshed himself as well as he could, and
made inquiry about the Baxendales' address. At four o'clock he presented
himself at the house, and sent in a card to Beatrice.

The Baxendales lived in St. Luke's, which we already know as the
fashionable quarter of Dunfield. Their house stood by itself, with high
walls about it, enclosing a garden; at the door were stone pillars, the
lower half painted a dull red. It seemed the abode of solid people, not
troubled with scruples of taste. It was with surprise that Wilfrid found
himself in a room abundantly supplied with books and furnished in
library fashion. His state of mind notwithstanding, he glanced along a
few shelves, discovering yet more unexpected things, to wit,
philosophical works. Unfortunately the corners of the room showed busts
of certain modern English statesmen: but one looks for weaknesses
everywhere.

Beatrice entered, rustling in a light, shimmery dress. Her face
expressed embarrassment rather than surprise; after the first exchange
of glances, she avoided his eager look. Her hand had lain but coldly in
his. Wilfrid, face to face with her, found more difficulty in speaking
than he had anticipated.

'I have come directly from Switzerland,' he began. 'You mentioned in a
letter to my aunt that--'

His hesitation of a moment was relieved by Beatrice.

'You mean Miss Hood's illness,' she said, looking down at her hands,
which were lightly clasped on her lap.

'Yes. I wish for news. I thought it likely you might know--'

Probably it was the effect of his weariness; he could not speak in his
usual straightforward way; hesitancy, to his own annoyance, made gaps
and pauses in his sentences.

'We heard this morning,' Beatrice said, looking past his face to the
window, 'that she is better. The danger seems to be over.'

'There has been danger?'

'The day before yesterday she was given up.'

'So ill as that.' Wilfrid spoke half to himself, and indeed it cost him
an effort to make his voice louder. He began, 'Can you tell me--' and
again paused.

'Have you heard nothing from any other quarter?' Beatrice asked, after a
silence of almost a minute.

He looked at her, wondering what she knew of his relations to Emily. It
was clear that his interest occasioned her no surprise.

'I came away