"Very good, madam."

As she climbed the stairs she saw him gravely closing the doors. She
paused on the landing, her sense of relief overborne by a greater sense
of defeat. There was still time! She heard the wheels of the carriage on
the circle--yet she listened to them die away. Starling softly caught the
latch, and glanced up. For an instant their looks crossed, and she
hurried on with palpitating breast, reached her boudoir, and closed the
door. The walls seemed to frown on her, and she remembered that the
sitting-room in St. Louis had worn that same look when, as a child, she
had feigned illness in order to miss a day at school. With a leaden heart
she gazed out on the waste of melting snow, and then tried in vain to
read a novel that a review had declared amusing. But a question always
came between her and the pages: was this the turning point of that silent
but terrible struggle, when she must acknowledge to herself that the
world had been too strong for her? After a while her loneliness became
unbearable. Chiltern was in the library.

"Home from church?" he inquired.

"I didn't go, Hugh."

He looked up in surprise.

"Why, I thought I saw you start," he said.

"It's such a dreary day, Hugh."

"But that has never prevented you before."