"Oh, I don't mind rain; I never catch cold. It will not take me long to get home. And any other day—" She did not finish her sentence, and could hardly wait to say good-bye. Mr. Carden-Cox seemed in doubt whether to be amused or vexed by her precipitate flight. He lent her an umbrella, and apologised for the lack of a lady's waterproof. Fulvia had come in her best black walking-dress, which would suffer from pelting rain. But what did she care? What did anything matter, in comparison with getting home? The distance had never seemed so great, and Fulvia had never traversed it at such speed. She would not let herself think by the way. Distracting possibilities presented themselves, and Fulvia refused to look at them. Her arrival at home, dripping and forlorn, with flushed face and bespattered skirt, was greeted by a triple exclamation from Mrs. Browning and the girls, "Fulvia! Already!" "Yes; I didn't want to stay any longer. Uncle let me off. Where is Nigel?" Fulvia dropped into the nearest chair, and Anice cried out at the contact of her wet clothes with the furniture. Fulvia did not care for that; but she did care for the curious questioning look in Daisy's eyes, fixed upon herself. "Why didn't he send you home in a fly?" asked Anice. "I did not want to wait. Where is Nigel?" "Downstairs." "Not in the study; I have been there." "Then he must have gone out. I heard the front door open and shut." Fulvia rose, and dragged herself upstairs without another word. There, on the chest of drawers, stood, as before, her two boxes. She tried both with trembling fingers. Too late! The new box was locked, the old one unlocked and empty! Daisy had done her work. Hoping still against hope, Fulvia loosened the looking-glass in the lid, and peeped behind it. No crumpled paper was there. She snatched her keys from the table drawer, and opened the other box, to see if perchance Daisy had passed on the postscript with the trinkets. Daisy's neat arrangements were tossed into reckless disorder in the search. But Fulvia looked in vain; the half-sheet had vanished. Too late! All her hurry and toil for nothing. And Nigel had gone out? Had Daisy given him the paper? Sick with fear, Fulvia removed her wet things, dressed herself in dry clothes, and smoothed her ruffled hair. Then, on shaking limbs, she crept down to the study to await Nigel's return, like a culprit awaiting judgment. Daisy did not come to her. Anice found out where Fulvia was, and wanted Daisy to bring her thence, but Daisy flatly refused to act messenger. She did not wish to be questioned by Fulvia. She needed not to fear. Fulvia was in too abject a state to question anybody. The long-buried wrongdoing, almost forgotten by herself, had found her out sharply. She saw her own action once again, as at first, with Nigel's eyes, and she was overwhelmed with shame. Would Nigel cast her off for this? Would he be glad to avail himself of the excuse?