aristocracy and society had produced. She trembled from head to foot,
and for a moment it seemed that she must fall. But she steadied herself
and walked firmly to Eglington's door. Turning the handle softly, she
stepped inside.

He did not hear her. He was leaning over a box of papers, and they
rustled loudly under his hand. He was humming to himself that song she
heard an hour ago in Il Trovatore, that song of passion and love and
tragedy. It sent a wave of fresh feeling over her. She could not go
on--could not face him, and say what she must say. She turned and passed
swiftly from the room, leaving the door open, and hurried down the
staircase. Eglington heard now, and wheeled round. He saw the open
door, listened to the rustle of her skirts, knew that she had been there.
He smiled, and said to himself:

"She came to me, as I said she would. I shall master her--the full
surrender, and then--life will be easy then."

Hylda hurried down the staircase to her room, saw Kate Heaver waiting,
beckoned to her, caught up her opera-cloak, and together they passed down
the staircase to the front door. Heaver rang a bell, a footman appeared,
and, at a word, called a cab. A minute later they were ready:

"Snowdon House," Hylda said; and they passed into the night.




CHAPTER XXXVI