suddenly quench some fair-beaming star, as if at the threshold of some
golden portal prepared for Oleron a pit should suddenly gape, as if a
bat-like shadow should turn the growing dawn to mirk and darkness
again.... Therefore, Oleron strove to stifle even the nascent thought
of her.

Nevertheless, there came an occasion on which this woman Bengough
absolutely refused to be suppressed. Oleron could not have told exactly
when this happened; he only knew by the glimmer of the street lamp on his
blind that it was some time during the night, and that for some time she
had not presented herself.

He had no warning, none, of her coming; she just came--was there. Strive
as he would, he could not shake off the thought of her nor the image of
her face. She haunted him.

But for her to come at that moment of all moments!... Really, it was past
belief! How she could endure it, Oleron could not conceive! Actually, to
look on, as it were, at the triumph of a Rival.... Good God! It was
monstrous! tact--reticence--he had never credited her with an
overwhelming amount of either: but he had never attributed mere--oh,
there was no word for it! Monstrous--monstrous! Did she intend
thenceforward.... Good God! To look on!...

Oleron felt the blood rush up to the roots of his hair with anger against
her.

"Damnation take her!" he choked....

But the next moment his heat and resentment had changed to a cold sweat