Isobel did not seem minded even for so much. She came up to him with a quick resolute step. She wore a low-cut black gown, and a black lace scarf twisted round her neck. She bent her head slightly, saying, "Good-night, Mr. Harry." He stepped up to her, holding out his hand, but she made no motion to take it. "I've no key--I'll go in by the back door. It's sure to be open, because Fellowes is up, waiting for Mr. Wellgood." "He won't be here for ever so long. Won't you give me just three minutes?" The lamp over the hall door showed him her face; it was pale and tense, her lips were parted. "I think I'd sooner go in at once." "I want you to know that I didn't send that answer lightly. It--it wasn't easy to obey you." "Please don't let us say a single word more about it. If you have any feeling, any consideration for me, you'll let me go at once." The moment was a bad one for her too. She had spent an evening alone with bitter thoughts; she had strolled out in a miserable restlessness. Seeing the carriage pass, feeling sure that Harry was in it, she had first thought that she would hide herself till he had gone, then decided to try to reach the house before he had parted from Vivien. Her wavering landed her there at the one wrong minute. Harry glanced up at the house; every window was dark. Vivien's room looked over the lake, the servants' quarters to the back. There was danger, of course; somebody might come; but nobody was there to see now. The danger was enough to incite, not enough to deter. And what he had to say was very short. "I only want to tell you how deeply sorry I am, and to ask you to forgive me." "That's soon said--and soon answered. I forgive you, if I have anything to forgive." Her voice was very low, it broke and trembled on the last words of the sentence. "I had lost the right to love you, and I hadn't the courage to regain my freedom, with all that meant to--to poor Vivien and--others. But at least I was sincere. I didn't pretend--" "Please, please!" Her tones sank to a whisper; he strained forward to catch it. "Have some mercy on me, Harry!" The old exultation and the old recklessness seized on him. He suffered a very intoxication of the senses. Her strength made weakness, her stateliness turned to trembling for his sake--the spectacle swept away his good resolves as the wind blows the loose petals from a fading rose. Springing forward, he tried to grasp her hands. She put them behind her back, and stood thus, her face upturned to his, her eyes set on him intently. He spoke in a low hoarse voice. "I can't stand any more of it. I've tried and tried. I love Vivien in a way, and I hate to hurt her. And I hate all the fuss too. But I can't do it any more. You're the girl for me, Isobel! It comes home to me--right home--every time I see you. Let's face it--it'll soon be over! A minute with you is worth an hour with her. I tell you I love you, Isobel." He stooped suddenly and kissed the upturned lips.