He soothed her tenderly, with a very happy remembrance of her delight in recognizing him, and of the impulsive closing of the little hands on his arm. He began to think that repulse of a few hours before might be differently construed; she could not have smiled up more than gratefully into his face as she was doing now if he had been repugnant to her. Other women might, but not Annie Langton. And Aubrey was right. She had felt just what her face expressed, that the one person in the world whose presence inspired her with perfect confidence had suddenly appeared at the very moment when she dreaded the approach of the person she most feared to meet. For, in the half tipsy man who had staggered down from Miss West’s door and reeled against her, Annie had instantly recognized her husband. He had not known her, he had scarcely seen her, for the little figure had flown past almost before he had recovered his balance; but in the first moment of terror, Annie imagined that he had seen, known, and was pursuing her. She walked on with Aubrey very quietly, very silently, her hand on his arm and his hand on hers, listening to his gentle, playful scolding with a little laugh now and then, but without speaking much, satisfied that she was safe with him, and that she need not talk to show him that she felt so. When they came to her door, she disengaged her hand and held it out while bidding him “Good-night” with a smile that made Aubrey bold. He took her hand in his, passed his other arm round her, saying, in a quick, jerky whisper: “Annie, you do--you will trust yourself to me, won’t you?” There was no eloquence in his speech; but for once his light eyes spoke very plainly, his voice broke into tenderness. Annie trembled. Her eyes, as they met his, shone with a light he had never seen in them before. But before he could speak again, before he could draw her into his arms, the light had faded. She gave him one look so wildly, unutterably sad that he never forgot it; then, with bent head, she slipped gently out of the grasp of his arm and turned to the door. She could not see the lock, for the tears were gathering in her eyes. After a few moments, Aubrey, who had stood behind her without speaking, took the key from her shaking hand and opened the door for her. “Thank you, Aubrey. Good-night,” said she, in a quavering voice, without looking up. “Good-night, darling!” he whispered back, managing to give one last despairing squeeze to the little fingers before she shut the door. He went home to his lodgings utterly bewildered, but resolved to get from her the next day some explanation of her extraordinary treatment of his advances. She had certainly understood him. She had at first repelled, then encouraged him. He had seen in her eyes the very look he had wished to call up in them, and the next minute it had changed to an expression of plaintive misery and regret which had chilled his hopes even as they rose.