It was perhaps the first time he had let himself challenge himself. With one of those curious tricks that imagination plays us at times he was suddenly wafted from the cosy warmth of his room to that cold, damp mist of the day before. He was walking through the white fog with Camilla Lancing nestling close to him. If he were to turn his back on London, on society, on that life which had been circling about him of late, he must turn his back on this woman, for she, and she alone, was the magnet that held him so tenaciously. He caught his breath suddenly, like one who fights for a cold, keen wind, and got up. It had grown to be the dominant influence of his present life, this struggle with himself on the subject of Camilla Lancing. How would it end? His man came into his room at that moment, bringing a note. It was written in pencil, and came from Camilla. "I am waiting outside," she had scribbled. "I wonder if you would see me? I want to see you _very_ much. I have a great favour to ask you. Could you spare me ten minutes?" Rupert Haverford read the note two or three times; he wanted to calm himself and steady his voice. "Please ask Mrs. Lancing if she will come in, Harper," he said. She came in almost directly. Yesterday she had been a brown fairy; to-day she seemed to be a living violet. He never knew in detail what she wore; he was only conscious of the exquisite effect she always made. Her near approach was heralded by the sweetest, faintest whisper of the flowers she personified. She had thrown back her veil. He noticed that though she was smiling she looked pale and tired. "How good of you to see me!" she said. "How good of you to come!" he answered in his usual grave way--the way she called "stodgy." He pushed forward a chair for her near the fire, but she chose to sit away from it in the shadows. "Thanks. No, I won't have tea. I have had some already--two cups, and I must not stay more than two minutes. I have some news for you," she announced. "Agnes has come up with me; I simply refused to leave Yelverton without her. And she only wanted an excuse to come." Camilla laughed as she sank into a chair. "You have not an idea what a scene of excitement there was at my house when we arrived! My children simply adore Agnes, and she adores them. And oh, Mr. Haverford, I am charged with all sorts of messages to you! Betty and Baby are enchanted with your lockets and intend wearing them always, but, please, you must give them a picture of yourself to put inside; that is what they say." There was a little pause. Camilla let her sables slip from her shoulders on to her arms. She had come there with a distinct purpose, a purpose that was bound about with the iron of most pressing fear and necessity. True to her nature, she was not going to speak frankly. "I can't," she said to herself; "I absolutely can't!" Haverford was standing by the fire.