drawing-room, but as she turned to leave the apartment she saw Haldane
between her and the door.

Before he had reached any of his garish haunts he had felt such an utter
distaste for them in his present mood that he returned. He was conscious
of the impulse merely to be near the object of his thoughts, and also
hoped that by some fortunate chance he might still be able to find her
alone. That his return might be unnoted, he had quietly entered a side
door, and was waiting and watching for just such an opportunity as Mrs.
Arnot had unwittingly occasioned.

Laura tried to brush past, but he intercepted her, and said:

"No, Miss Laura, not till you hear me. You have my destiny in your
hands."

"I haven't anything of the kind," she answered, in tones of strong
vexation. Guided by instinct, she resolved to be as prosaic and
matter-of-fact as possible; so she added: "I have only aunt's
smelling-salts in my hands, and she needs them."

"I need _you_ far more than Mrs. Arnot needs her smelling-salts,"
he said tragically.

"Mr. Haldane, such talk is very absurd," she replied, half ready to cry
from nervousness and annoyance.

"It is not absurd. How can you trifle with the deepest and holiest
feelings that a man--of which a man--feels?" he retorted passionately,
and growing a little incoherent.