He closed the door, lit a candle, and made his way to his room. As soon as he was there he locked the door and flung the window wide open.

Resting his elbows upon the window-sill, he looked out at the soft, misty darkness. He had the sensation of having been through some undignified fight, in which even victory savored of shame. He felt a quivering consciousness, half indignant, half irritated, of having been forced into an impossible situation.

Presently he began to undress. He moved about on tiptoe, and found himself continually listening. He heard Lady Hilda come out from the billiard room below, heard her strike a match as she lit a candle, heard her coming up the stairs. He stood quite still. Suddenly he saw the handle of his door turned softly--once, and then again. He watched it with fascinated, almost horrified eyes. The door was shaken slightly. A voice from outside called him.

"Good night!"

He made no reply. The handle ceased to rattle. He heard retreating footsteps, the opening and closing of Lady Hilda's door.

XXII

John was awakened the next morning by the sound of rain against his window. He got out of bed and looked upon a scene of desolation. The clouds hung low, and rain was coming down in level sheets. The lawns and gardens which yesterday had had the air of waiting for the spring were to-day a sudden wilderness.

There was a knock at the door, and the butler brought in his tea.

"Lady Hilda sends her compliments, sir," he announced, "and as the morning is so unfavorable she will not rise until eleven o'clock.

Breakfast will be ready down-stairs at half past nine, or can be served in your room."

"Thank you, I'll come down," John replied.

He bathed and shaved himself, he even packed his own clothes. Then he left the room, descending the stairs softly, and glancing furtively at the door of Lady Hilda's room with an air almost of a guilty schoolboy.

He breakfasted alone and spent the morning in the billiard room until Lady Hilda appeared.

"I am a terrible hostess, am I not?" she said apologetically, as she opened the door; "but what is there to be done? The weather is too hopeless, isn't it?"

"Appalling!" John agreed. "Still, it's very comfortable in here, and I have just made a seventy-one break."

"We'll have a two hundred and fifty up--that ought to last until lunch-time," she suggested, throwing herself into a chair. "Give me ten minutes, will you? This weather is so depressing. Even the effort of getting up seems to have tired me."

She threw herself into an easy chair, and John tried to concentrate his attention upon the b.a.l.l.s. More than once, however, he glanced across at his hostess. She was looking older this morning, paler, her face a little drawn, her eyes large and soft. She sat looking into the fire; on her knee were some letters, at which she scarcely glanced. Presently she threw them aside and rang the bell.

"Bring me a brandy-and-soda and the cigarettes," she told the butler.

"Now, Mr. Strangewey, I am ready," she went on, turning to John. "Give me fifty in two hundred and fifty, if you dare!"

"We'll try," he agreed.

They played until lunch-time, both affecting a rapt interest in the game. At the sound of the gong Lady Hilda laid down her cue.

"We'll finish later," she suggested.

John strolled to the window. There were some signs of clearing in the sky, although the whole place seemed still to reek of moisture.

"I am afraid I shall have to start soon after lunch," he said. "It will take some time to get up to town. I am not a very experienced driver, and my car is a little inclined to skid on wet roads."

She made no remark, and to both of them the presence of servants during the meal appeared to be somewhat of a relief. The coffee and liqueurs, however, again were served in the billiard room, and there was a very awkward silence. For some time Lady Hilda had baffled his efforts at ordinary conversation, and his last few remarks about the weather she had ignored altogether.

"So you are going up this evening?" she said at last.

"This afternoon, if you don't mind," he replied, glancing at the clock, and thinking of the bliss with which he would turn his car out into the road. "I explained, didn't I, that I had an engagement this evening?"

"Quite right," she admitted. "All the same, you are rather an inconsiderate guest, aren't you, to leave me here alone in this swamp?"

"Come, too?" he suggested. "I'll motor you up."

"Thanks," she replied, "I will."

He was a little taken aback, but, after all, it was perhaps the simplest way out of his difficulties.

"I'll take you, with pleasure, if you don't mind being drenched."

"I can stand physical discomforts," she said. "It's the other sort of knocks that bruise."

"It won't be so bad," he continued, ignoring her last speech, "if you wear a mackintosh and something thick for your head. Shouldn't wonder if it cleared up presently."

Lady Hilda smiled.

"I have been out in a shower in Patagonia," she reminded him, "which lasted for three weeks. Will it suit you to start in half an hour?"

"Any time you like," he agreed.

She had changed her position a little, and he was forced to look at her.

"Mr. Strangewey," she said, "I want to ask you a question. Are you going to marry Louise Maurel?"

"I am," he replied, without hesitation; "at least, I hope to do so."

She looked at him for a moment with a strange expression. Then she rose to her feet. Her lips were quivering. She leaned against the mantelpiece, with her forehead upon her arms. At first he imagined that she was going to weep; then, to his horror, he found that she was laughing--half-hysterically, perhaps, but still laughing. He drew a step nearer to her, but she waved him away.

"Sit down!" she gasped. "Oh, if I might tell this to Henri Graillot!

What a play! What humor! My friend John Strangewey, I congratulate you!

You have created a new situation in life. Leave me alone, please!"

She bent forward until her face was completely hidden. Her body was shaken. Once or twice he fancied that her laughter had turned to sobs.

When at last she looked up, however, there were the remains of an almost devilish mirth on her lips. She rang the bell.

"That is for my maid," she said. "I am now going to change my clothes and let you motor me up to London. I shall get some fresh air, at any rate, and your car always fills me with longing. Amuse yourself, won't you? I shall be an hour getting ready, and I will order an early tea."

"You wouldn't care to tell me, I suppose," he asked, "what is the new situation in life which you say I have created?"

She turned to him from the door. She was really a very handsome woman.

Her lips were most expressive.

"My friend," she said, "if you knew, if you understood, the priceless humor of it would be gone."

She closed the door and left John alone. He went back to the billiard-table, but somehow or other his skill seemed to have vanished.

He had the picture of her face in his mind, the subtle meaning of her lips, the mockery of her eyes.