He was lingering, undecidedly, as though a little pressure would have scattered his resolution to the winds, and seated him once more in the chair he had just quitted. But, since he had said that he must go, it never occurred to Clemence to ask him to stay. If it were not his duty he would never leave her. If it was his duty now, how could she hold him back! “To-morrow will come!” she said, looking into his face with a brave smile. “I don’t believe you want me to stay!” he returned, half laughing, half vexed. “Don’t I?” she said simply, and he caught her in his arms again. “What a shame!” he said. “There, good-bye! Are you coming to the door?” She shook her head. “I’ll stay here,” she said, “and watch you from the window. I see you farther so. Ah, it’s rather foggy! I’m so sorry! You’ll look up? Good-bye!” She lifted her face to his and kissed him tenderly and shyly, and he left her standing by the window. Julian ran downstairs, let himself out, and stood for a moment on the doorstep as he realised the disagreeable nature of the atmosphere. At the same instant the door of the house opposite opened, and a man came out, attended to the threshold by a woman. She caught sight of Julian instantly, and said something to the man, as he stood in the shadow, in a deferential whisper. Julian shook himself, confounded the fog, and then glanced up at the window from which the light streamed on his face. He waved his hand, turned away, and walked rapidly down the street, pulling up his coat collar as he went. As he went, Dennis Falconer slowly descended the two steps of that opposite house, and slowly--very slowly--followed him. CHAPTER V “Good-bye! So glad to have seen you! What, dear Mrs. Ponsonby, are you going to run away too? So kind of you to come out on such an afternoon! Good-bye!” It was a Friday afternoon, and Friday was Mrs. Romayne’s “day.” This particular Friday had been about as unpleasant, atmospherically, as it is possible for even a November day to be, short of actual dense fog; it had been very dark, and a drizzling rain--a dirty rain too--had fallen unceasingly. Under these circumstances it was rather surprising that any one should have ventured out, even in the most luxurious brougham, than that Mrs. Romayne’s visitors should have been comparatively few in number.