"Oh, yes! I don't remember when he was here last--indeed, we haven't seen much of him lately. He's so busy with your cousin's house; I'm told it'll be finished directly. We must organize a little dinner to celebrate the event; do come and stay the night with us!" "Thank you," said June. Again she thought: 'I'm only wasting my time. This woman will tell me nothing.' She got up to go. A change came over Mrs. Baynes. She rose too; her lips twitched, she fidgeted her hands. Something was evidently very wrong, and she did not dare to ask this girl, who stood there, a slim, straight little figure, with her decided face, her set jaw, and resentful eyes. She was not accustomed to be afraid of asking question's--all organization was based on the asking of questions! But the issue was so grave that her nerve, normally strong, was fairly shaken; only that morning her husband had said: "Old Mr. Forsyte must be worth well over a hundred thousand pounds!" And this girl stood there, holding out her hand--holding out her hand! The chance might be slipping away--she couldn't tell--the chance of keeping her in the family, and yet she dared not speak. Her eyes followed June to the door. It closed. Then with an exclamation Mrs. Baynes ran forward, wobbling her bulky frame from side to side, and opened it again. Too late! She heard the front door click, and stood still, an expression of real anger and mortification on her face. June went along the Square with her bird-like quickness. She detested that woman now whom in happier days she had been accustomed to think so kind. Was she always to be put off thus, and forced to undergo this torturing suspense? She would go to Phil himself, and ask him what he meant. She had the right to know. She hurried on down Sloane Street till she came to Bosinney's number. Passing the swing-door at the bottom, she ran up the stairs, her heart thumping painfully. At the top of the third flight she paused for breath, and holding on to the bannisters, stood listening. No sound came from above. With a very white face she mounted the last flight. She saw the door, with his name on the plate. And the resolution that had brought her so far evaporated. The full meaning of her conduct came to her. She felt hot all over; the palms of her hands were moist beneath the thin silk covering of her gloves. She drew back to the stairs, but did not descend. Leaning against the rail she tried to get rid of a feeling of being choked; and she gazed at the door with a sort of dreadful courage. No! she refused to go down. Did it matter what people thought of her? They would never know! No one would help her if she did not help herself! She would go through with it.