The exact significance of her attitude towards George Trant came upon her. She was playing with him. She knew that. It was not so much in revenge for what had happened long before; it was from sheer uncontrollable ecstasy at wielding a new and incomprehensible power. She would have played ruthlessly with any man who had been so weak and misguided as to fall in love with her. She knew that perfectly well. Therefore it was a good thing the man was George Trant, for at least in his case she might conceivably justify herself. And yet she knew that justifying herself had really nothing at all to do with the matter; she knew that there was in her some mysterious impulse that prompted her to do and to say things quite apart from any considerations of justice or justification. Cruel? Yes, possibly. She pondered. No. She was _not_ cruel. If she heard a cat mewing in the street she would scarcely ever pass it by. A child crying filled her with vague depression. She was _not_ cruel. But she was immensely, voraciously curious, a frantic explorer of her own and other people’s emotions, a ruthless exploiter of dramatic possibilities. She had not developed these traits by reading novels or seeing plays or any such exterior means. They were inherent in herself. Suddenly she remembered the note that had been given her that evening. By the light of a candle she sat up in bed and tore open the thin, purple-lined envelope. She read: DEAR MADAM, Will you come and see me to-morrow (Sunday) at three p.m., “Claremont,” the Ridgeway, Upton Rising?--Yrs., etc., EMIL RAZOUNOV. Razounov! She actually laughed, a little silver ripple which she immediately stifled on reflecting that Mrs. Carbass slept in the room below. Razounov! Truly she was developing into a very marvellous and remarkable personage! ... § 3 The door of No. 24, Kitchener Road was opened by Mrs. Jopson. “Do come in,” she began effusively. “I’ve jest bin clearin’ up a bit....” Then she added mysteriously: “Of course, they’ve took ’im away....”