At last she got up, went through the hall, and out on to the terrace. She looked up and down the length of it. The night was fine and the moon shone, but she saw no sign of him. She called his name softly; there was no reply. Either he had gone further afield, or he was in the house. She paused a moment, and then took her way along the corridor which led past the dining-room to the smoking-room--an apartment seldom used in these lax days (when every room is a smoking-room) and rather remote. Perhaps he had retreated there. She stood for a moment outside the door, hesitating at the last whether to seek him out. But some impulse in her--friendliness, remorse, fear, curiosity, all had their share in it--drove her on. Very softly she turned the handle and opened the door. Yes, he was there. He was sitting in a chair by the table. His arms were spread on the table, the hands meeting one another, and his head rested on his hands. He did not hear the door she opened so gently. He looked as if he were asleep. Then, softly still, she closed the door, standing close by it. This time he heard the noise, slight as it was, and lifted his face from his hands. When he saw her, he slowly raised himself till he sat straight in his chair. She advanced towards him timidly, with a deprecatory smile. In disuse the room had grown dreary, as rooms do; the furniture showed a housemaid's stiff ideas of arrangement; there was no human untidiness; even the air was rather musty. "Oh, you don't look very cheerful in here! Have you been asleep, Arthur?" She sat herself sideways on the heavy mahogany writing-table. He shook his head; his eyes looked very tired. "I couldn't think what had become of you. And I wanted to say good-night. We're--we're friends, aren't we, Cousin Arthur?" "Where's Oliver Wyse?" he asked brusquely. "Upstairs in his room--writing letters. He went almost as soon as you did--but more politely!" Her smile made the reproof an overture to friendship. "I hate to see the fellow with you," he broke out fiercely, but in a low voice. "Oh, you mustn't say things like that! What nonsense have you got into your head? Sir Oliver's just a friend--as you are. Not the same quite, because you're a relation too. But still just a very good friend, as you are. Is this all because I told you you ought not to neglect your work?" "Why are you so anxious for me to clear out?" "If you take it like that, I can't--well, we can't talk. I must just leave you alone." She got down from the table and stood by it, ready, as it seemed, to carry out her threat of going. "I'll go to London--if you'll tell Oliver Wyse to come with me." "He's only just come, poor man--and only for a few days, anyhow! I think you've gone mad. Who's been putting such things in your head? Is it--Godfrey?" "You wouldn't be surprised if it was, would you?" he asked quickly.