"Why should _he_ know all about it?" asked Will, rather angrily: but Melton only shrugged his shoulders. He returned to his place by Dove’s side; but the peculiar meaning of that smile—or rather the possible meaning of it—vexed and irritated him so that he could not remain there. He professed himself tired of having seen the piece so often; and said he would go out for a walk, to cure himself of a headache he had, and return before the play was over. So he went out into the cool night-air, and wandered carelessly on along the dark streets, bearing vaguely westward. He was thinking of many things, and scarcely knew that he rambled along Piccadilly, and still westward, until he found himself in the neighbourhood of Kensington. Then he stopped; and when he recognised the place in which he stood, he laughed slightly and bitterly. "Down here, of course. I had persuaded myself I had no wish to go to the theatre beyond that of taking Dove there, and that I was not disappointed when I found she did not play. Well, my feet are honester than my head." He took out his watch. He had walked down so quickly that there were nearly two hours before he had to return to the theatre. Then he said to himself that, as he had nothing to do, he might as well walk down and take a look at the house which he knew so well. Perhaps it was the last time he might look on it, and know that she was inside. So he walked in that direction, taking little heed of the objects around him. People passed and repassed along the pavement; they were to him vague and meaningless shadows, occasionally lit up by the glare of a shop-window or a lamp. Here and there he noticed some tall building, or other object, which recalled old scenes and old times; and, indeed, he walked on in a kind of dream, in which the past was as clearly around him as the present. At the corner of the street leading down to the smaller street, or square, in which Annie Brunel lived, there was a chemist’s shop, with large windows looking both ways. Also at the corner of the pavement was a lamp, which shed its clear orange light suddenly on the faces of the men and women who passed.