e impression was for the moment irresistible with her that a
trick had been played her. But three minutes with him alone would make
the difference.

They would indeed have a considerable difference to make, Nick
reflected, as minutes much more numerous elapsed without bringing Mrs.
Dallow home. For he had said to the butler that he would come in and
wait--though it was odd she should not have left a message for him: she
would doubtless return from one moment to the other. He had of course
full licence to wait anywhere he preferred; and he was ushered into
Julia's particular sitting-room and supplied with tea and the evening
papers. After a quarter of an hour, however, he gave little attention to
these beguilements, thanks to his feeling still more acutely that since
she definitely knew he was coming she might have taken the trouble to be
at home. He walked up and down and looked out of the window, took up her
books and dropped them again, and then, as half an hour had elapsed,
became aware he was really sore. What could she be about when, with
London a thankless void, she was of course not paying visits? A footman
came in to attend to the fire, whereupon Nick questioned him as to the
manner in which she was possibly engaged. The man disclosed the fact
that his mistress had gone out but a quarter of an hour before Nick's
arrival, and, as if appreciating the opportunity for a little decorous
conversation, gave him still more information than he invited. From this
it appeared that, as Nick knew, or could surmise, she had the evening
before, from the country, wired for the victoria to meet her in the
morning at Paddington and then gone straight from the station to the
studio, while her maid, with her luggage, proceeded in a cab to Great
Stanhope Street. On leaving the studio, however, she had not come
directly home; she had chosen this unusual season for an hour's drive in
the Park. She had finally re-entered her house, but had remained
upstairs all day, seeing no one and not coming down to luncheon. At four
o'clock she had ordered the brougham for four forty-five, and had got
into it punctually, saying, "To the Park!" as she did so.

Nick, after the footman had left him, made what he could of Julia's
sudden passion for the banks of the Serpentine, forsaken and foggy now,
inasmuch as the afternoon had come on grey and the light was waning. She
usually hated the Park and hated a closed carriage. He had a gruesome
vision of