She was a strange enough figure, sitting there in her dusty clothes, her battered old hat, while the cab sped on, through and out of the city, along dark country roads lined with trees, past fields, past marshes, past desolate buildings, past friendly lighted houses. She was consumed with a fever of haste, burning with anxiety, looking over the driver’s shoulders at the road before her, which seemed so endless. Now they were going up the hill to the house--the very house. "You wait a while," she said. "The longer you wait the more you’ll get paid." The front door stood open, with only a screen door across the aperture, and a faint light from the hall shone out on the roadway. There didn’t seem to be any one about. She stood outside, peering through the screen into the hall, listening. Not a sound! She was obliged to ring the bell; and who should open the door but the doctor? He didn’t see who it was until he had let her in; then he was frightened at the unexpectedness of her coming, at the wild disorder of her appearance. "What do you want?" he asked. "I want to speak to Vincent," she answered. "Where is he?" "He may be busy. I’d better----” "_Where is he?_" she demanded. When the doctor didn’t answer, she pushed by him and ran up-stairs. Vincent was lying back in an armchair, in a bath-robe, his slender bare feet on a second chair. He was eating biscuits and cheese from a plate balanced on his knees, and reading a magazine, in the greatest possible comfort, physical and mental, when without an instant’s warning Angelica entered, wild, savage, relentless as a Fury. He sat up, drawing the bath-robe tightly about him, and tried to frown at her; but he felt, and he appeared, at a horrible disadvantage. "What do you want?" he demanded. She couldn’t speak for a moment. She only looked at him with her fierce black eyes, pressing a hand against her breast, as if to stifle by force the tumult there. He was alarmed, really, although he tried so desperately to look scornful. "Well?" he asked again. "What did you come here for?" "That letter!" she said. "That letter to Eddie! You shan’t send it!" "I have," he answered. "No!" she cried. "No! You haven’t." "I tell you I have!" he answered definitely. "I told you so over the telephone." She stood motionless, staring past him, oblivious of his uneasy bewilderment. Thoughts were running through her brain like fire through parched grass. She remembered things she had heard--of the English suffragettes pouring acid into mail-boxes to destroy their contents. But what did they use, and where to get it? Her vigorous and subtle brain was never quite without resource. She thought and thought, with passionate intensity, and at last, suddenly, an idea came to her. She went out of the room abruptly, so swiftly and silently that Vincent was astonished and more than ever alarmed. What in Heaven’s name was that damnable girl up to now? He knew she wouldn’t stop at anything.