I was now in an altogether indescribable state of nerves and suspense. Had she definitely and for some unfathomable reason decided to cut me? The first extra drew languorously to a close, couples swept from the room to the grounds, the gallery or the conservatory. I tried to steady my whirling head with a cigarette and a whisky-and-soda in the smoking-room. The orchestra, like a train starting tentatively on a long run, launched itself mildly into the preliminary bars of _Tout Passe_. I sought the ballroom blinded by my feelings. Pulling myself together with an effort, I saw her standing alone. It struck me for the first time that she was clothed in cream. Her skin gleamed shining white. She stood erect, her arms by her sides. Behind her was a huge, black velvet _portière_ of many folds, supported by two dull brazen columns. As I advanced towards her, two or three men bowed and spoke to her. She smiled and dismissed them, and, still smiling pleasantly, her glance traversed the crowd and rested upon me. I was drawing now quite near. Her eyes met mine; nor did she avert them, and stooping a little to address her, I heard her sigh. “You’re tired,” I said, forgetting my two last dances, forgetting everything but that I loved her. “Perhaps I am,” she said, taking my arm. We turned in silence to the _portière_ and found ourselves in the hall. The doors were opened. Some servants were there. At the bottom of the steps I chanced to see a yellow light. “Find out if that cab’s engaged,” I said to a footman. “The cool air——” I said to Eva. “The cab is not engaged, sir,” said the footman, returning. “Yes,” said Eva, in answer to my glance. “Drive to the corner of Sloane Street, by way of the Park,” I told the driver. I have said that I had forgotten everything except that I loved her. Could it help remembrance now that we two sped alone through empty streets, her warm, palpitating body touching mine? Julian, his friendship for me, his love for Eva; Margaret and her love for me; my own honour—these things were blotted from my brain. “Eva!” I murmured; and I took her hand. “Eva.” Her wonderful eyes met mine. The mist in them seemed to turn to dew. “My darling,” she whispered, very low. And, the road being deserted, I drew her face to mine and kissed her. CHAPTER 16 I TELL JULIAN _(James Orlebar Cloyster’s narrative continued)_