Arabian had been very slow in advances. But now was not he like a man in great haste, like a man who wished to bring something to a conclusion rapidly, if possible immediately? Passion for her, perhaps, drove him on now that at last he had spoken, had held her in his arms. But suppose he had another reason for haste? He had seen Lady Sellingworth. He knew that she was a friend of the girl he wanted to marry. Miss Van Tuyn remembered that he had not welcomed her suggestion that the two couples, he and she, Lady Sellingworth and Craven, should have coffee together. He had spoken of the smallness of the tables in the _Bella Napoli_. But that might have been because he was jealous of Craven. She read the letter a third time, very slowly and carefully. Then she put it back into its envelope and rang the bell. A waiter came. “It’s about seven, isn’t it?” she said. “Half past seven, madam.” “Please bring me up some dinner at once--anything. Bring me a sole and an omelette. That will do. But I want it as soon as possible.” “Yes, madame.” The waiter went out. Then Miss Van Tuyn went to see old Fanny, and explained that she must dine alone that evening as she was in a hurry. “I have to go to Berkeley Square directly after dinner to visit a friend, Lady Sellingworth.” “Then I am to dine by myself, dear?” said Miss Cronin plaintively. “Yes, you must dine alone. Good night, Fanny.” “Shan’t I see you when you come in?” “I may be late. Don’t bother about me.” She went out and shut the door, leaving old Fanny distressed. Something very serious was certainly happening. Beryl looked quite unusual, so strung up, so excited. What could be the matter? If only they could get back to Paris! There everything went so differently! There Beryl was always in good spirits. The London atmosphere seemed to hold poison. Even Bourget’s spell was lessened in this city of darkness and strange inexplicable perturbations. That night, about a quarter to nine when Lady Sellingworth had just finished her solitary dinner and gone up to the drawing-room, a footman came in and said: “Will you see Miss Van Tuyn, my lady? She has called and is in the hall. She begs you to see her for a moment.” Two spots of red appeared in Lady Sellingworth’s white cheeks. For a moment she hesitated. A feeling almost of horror had come to her, a longing for instant flight. She had not expected this. She did not know what exactly she had expected, but it had certainly not been this. “Did you say I was in?” she said, at last. The footman--a new man in the house--looked uncomfortable. “I said your Ladyship was not out, but that I did not know whether your Ladyship was at home to anyone.” After another pause Lady Sellingworth said: “Please ask Miss Van Tuyn to come up.” As she spoke she got up from her sofa. She felt that she could not receive Beryl sitting, that she must stand to confront what was coming to her with the girl. The footman went out and almost immediately returned.