Two hours had elapsed since he had landed. It wasn’t likely that she would come now. As he drove to the Brevoort, he tried to explain the situation to himself so that it might appear in its bravest aspect. She must know that he had landed to-day; if his cable, telling her of his coming, had failed to be delivered, he would have been notified. And if, when she had received it, she hadn’t wanted him, she would have replied. Therefore, she both wanted him and knew that he had landed. He came to the conclusion that he had hoped for too much in expecting her to meet him. Until he had got excited, he hadn’t really expected that. It was only at the last minute that he had persuaded himself she would be there. To have had to welcome him in public, knowing the purpose of his voyage and knowing so little about him, would have been embarrassing. She was waiting for him to go to her home where their meeting would be private. At the Brevoort, the telephone-clerk found the phone-number of her address. He was trembling as he slipped into the booth. He was going to hear her voice. What would she say to him--to his daring at having accepted her challenge; and what would he say to her? He took up the receiver. “I’ve come, Desire. Who’s this? Can’t you guess? It’s the person you used to call Teddy.” He listened. There was a pause. “Hulloa! Are you there?” Muffled and metallic the answer came back: “Yes.--But Miss Desire’s not at home. This is Madame Jodrell’s maid speaking.--No. Madame Jodrell’s gone out. She won’t be home to lunch. She didn’t say when I was to expect her.--Has she gone to the dock to meet some one? No. I’m sure she hasn’t. Will you leave a message?” He repeated his name and gave her his address. “I’ll tell whichever of them gets home first,” the distant voice assured him; then he heard the click of the receiver hung up. He was bewildered. Things grew more and more discouraging. Desire must have mistaken the day of his arrival. If not, however pressing her engagement, she would have left him some word of welcome. He had a lonely lunch at a table looking out on Fifth Avenue. From where he sat he caught a glimpse of Washington Square--a glimpse which suggested both Paris and London. He was inclined to feel angry; the next moment he was amused at his petulance. A lover was always in haste. He wouldn’t let himself feel angry. It would be time enough for that if he found that she’d led him on a wild-goose chase. Then anger would help him to forget. In the meanwhile he must take Madame Josephine’s advice and be content to love. “Women long to be trusted.” Perhaps all this apparent indifference was a part of Desire’s test; she was trying to discover how far he would trust her. When he thought of her cloudy gray eyes, he felt certain that any seeming unkindness wasn’t intended. “I’m far nicer than you suspect,” she had told him.