“I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. Unconscious of the interest he excited, and entirely occupied by his own thoughts—which, if his bosom could have been examined, would have been found composed of mingled hopes and fears—the young man walked on till he came to an old house, with great projecting bay windows on the first floor, and situated as nearly as possible at the back of St. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible.
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