Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna's flat. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. Her sister had told him that it was true. Anna was married. After all, she was a consummate actress. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary. There was no longer any risk in association with her. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement. He slackened his pace as he reached the flat. The windows were still darkened--perhaps she was not home yet. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. Then a hansom drove up, and his heart gave a great leap. She stepped on to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. A young man turned to pay the cabman. Then she saw him. "Mr. Ennison," she exclaimed, "is that really you?" There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. She held out her hand frankly. She seemed honestly glad to see him. "How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!" she remarked gaily. "Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?" He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. He saw now that it was merely a boy. "This is Mr. Sydney Courtlaw--Mr. Ennison," she said. "You are coming in, aren't you, Sydney?" "If I may," he answered. "Your coffee's too good to refuse." She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison. "Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you," she said. "I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. I did not even know where to write and thank you." "I have been abroad," he said. "The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. I had to go at a moment's notice." "I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to see me," she said good-humouredly. "Please make yourselves comfortable while I see to the coffee."