nless, her face so intently turned toward the stage, that
the muscles at the back of her neck began to stiffen. And then, quite
suddenly, toward the middle of the act, she felt an undefinable sense of
relief. She could not tell what caused it--but slowly, cautiously, while
the eyes of the others were intent upon the stage, she turned her head
and looked toward Wyant's seat. It was empty.

Her first thought was that he had gone to wait for her outside. But
no--there were two more acts: why should he stand at the door for half
the evening?

At last the act ended; the entr'acte elapsed; the play went on
again--and still the seat was empty. Gradually she persuaded herself
that she had been mistaken in thinking that the man who had occupied it
was Wyant. Her self-command returned, she began to think and talk
naturally, to follow the dialogue on the stage--and when the evening was
over, and Mrs. Ansell set her down at her door, she had almost forgotten
her fears.

The next morning she felt calmer than for many days. She was sure now
that if Wyant had wished to speak to her he would have waited at the
door of the theatre; and the recollection of his miserable face made
apprehension yield to pity. She began to feel that she had treated him
coldly, uncharitably. They had been friends once, as well as
fellow-workers; but she had been false even to the comradeship of the
hospital. She should have sought him out and given him sympathy as well
as money; had she shown some sign of human kindness his last letter
might never have been written.

In the course of the morning Amherst telegraphed that he hoped to settle
his business in time to catch the two o'clock express, but that his
plans were still uncertain. Justine and Cicely lunched alone, and after
luncheon the little girl was despatched to her dancing-class. Justine
herself meant to go out when the brougham returned. She went up to her
room to dress, planning to drive in the park, and to drop in on Mrs.
Ansell before she called for Cicely; but on the way downstairs she saw
the servant opening the door to a visitor. It was too late to draw back;
and descending the last steps she found herself face to face with Wyant.

They looked at each other a moment in silence; then Justine murmured a
word of greeting and led the way to the drawing-room.

It was a snowy afternoon, and in the raw ash-coloured light she thought
he looked more changed than at the theatre. She remarked, too,