Was that a sound of someone within? No, only the beat of her own heart, the throb which seemed as if it must kill her. She _could_ not open the door! She had not the strength to stand. The pain, the pain!

Yet she had turned the handle, and had entered. He was in the act of placing volumes on the shelves. She moved forward and he looked round.

That was not the look she desired. Surprise at first, surprise blent with pleasure; but then a gravity which was all but disapproval.

Yet he gave his hand.

'Good-morning, Miss Trent!' The voice was scrupulously subdued, as inflexionless as he could make it. 'I am still at my secret work, you see. When I went away for lunch yesterday something prevented me from returning, so I came down again this morning.'

'You have got them nearly all put up.'

She could not face him, but kept her eyes on the almost empty cases.

'Yes. But I expect some more this afternoon.'

He walked away from her, with books in his hands. Thyrza felt ashamed.

What must he think of her? It was almost rude to come in this way--without shadow of excuse. Doubtless he was punishing her by this cold manner. Yet he could not unsay what he had said yesterday; and his recognition of her just outside the Hall last night had been so friendly. She felt that her mode of addressing him had been too unceremonious; the 'Sir' of their former intercourse seemed demanded again. Yet to use it would be plain disregard of his request.

Must she speak another word and go? That would be very hard. Shame and embarrassment notwithstanding, it was so sweet to be here; nay, the shame itself was luxury.

He said:

'I am so sorry I haven't a chair to offer you. If I put the top on this box? That is a very rude sort of seat, but--'

Then he wished her to remain a little? Or was it mere politeness, which modesty should direct her to meet with similar refusal? It was so hard that she did not know what was proper, how she was expected to behave.

In the meantime, the seat was improvised. He asked her with a smile if she would take it.

'Thank you, Mr. Egremont. I'm afraid I mustn't stay. Or only a minute.'

He glanced at the inner door, leading to the house. Had some sound come thence?

Thyrza seated herself. With one hand she held the edge of the box nervously. Her eyes were bent downwards. Egremont again walked away from her. On returning, he said, in the same almost expressionless tone:

'I hope you enjoyed the concert last night?'

This was what she had wished, that he would speak of the concert.

'I did, so very much,' she replied.

And, as she spoke, her face was lifted. He was regarding her, and did not at once avert his eyes. For an appreciable space of time they looked at each other.

Was she then satisfied? Could she leave him now and draw a hard line between this hour and the future? Less satisfied than ever. His gaze was a mystery; it seemed so cold, and yet, and yet--what did it suggest to her? That just observable tremor on his lip; that slight motion of the forehead, those things spoke to her miraculously sharpened sense, and yet she could not interpret their language. It was very far from the look she had yearned for, yet perhaps it affected her more profoundly than a frank gaze of kindness would have done.

He moved a little, again glancing at the inner door.

'I was there myself,' were his next words.

'Yes, I saw you. In the Hall, I mean; not only afterwards.'

Uttered without forethought--she desired to say that and had said it.

'Did you?' he said, more coldly still.

'Gilbert pointed you out to us.'

It was true, and it involved a falsehood. Egremont happened to regard her as she spoke, and at once a blush came to her cheeks. To what was she falling? Why did she tell untruths without the least need? She could not understand the motive which had impelled her to that.

Egremont had a distinct frown on his face. It was as though he read her deceit and despised her for it. Thyrza added, confusedly:

'My sister went with us. She hadn't meant to, but Gilbert persuaded her at last.'

'Do you remember which piece you liked best?'

'No, I couldn't say. It was all so beautiful. I liked the songs so much.'

'But Mr. Grail must take you to hear better singers than those.'

'Weren't they good?' she asked in astonishment.

'Certainly not bad, but not really excellent.'

He mentioned one or two world-echoed names, and spoke in particular of a concert shortly to be given, at which such singers would be heard.

'You have heard them?' Thyrza asked, gazing at him.

'Several times.'

'I should be almost afraid.'

He thought it a wonderful word to come from this untaught girl. Again their eyes met. He laughed.

'Something like my own feeling when I got out at Niagara Station, and began to walk towards the Falls. I dreaded the first sight of them.'

He was purposely turning it to a jest. He durst not reply to her in her own mood. And he saw that she had not understood.

'You have heard of Niagara?'

'No, Mr. Egremont. Will you tell me about it?'

He made a very brief pause, and she noticed it with fear. Did he despise her ignorance, or did he think her troublesome? Yet he began to explain, and was soon speaking much more freely, almost as he had spoken that evening in the Grails' room, when he told of his sea-experiences.

He ended somewhat abruptly, and went to the shelves with books. Thyrza rose and followed him. He looked back, strangely, as if startled.

'May I look at the books I put up yesterday?' she asked, timorously.

'Ah yes! There is old Gibbon, our corner-stone. He hasn't much elbow-room now.'

Again he laughed. The laugh troubled her; she preferred him to be grave.