Yet, strange to say, she felt not one qualm of conscience for their stolen meeting. No feminine terror, no fluttering fear, disturbed her equanimity. It almost seemed to her as if Bertram's kiss had released her by magic, at once and for ever, from the taboos of her nation. She had slipped out from home unperceived, that night, in fear and trembling, with many sinkings of heart and dire misgivings, while Robert and Phil were downstairs in the smoking-room; she had slunk round, crouching low, to Miss Blake's lodgings: and she had terrified her soul on the way with a good woman's doubts and a good woman's fears as to the wrongfulness of her attempt to say good-bye to the friend she might now no longer mix with. But from the moment her lips and Bertram's touched, all fear and doubt seemed utterly to have vanished; she lay there all night in a fierce ecstasy of love, hugging herself for strange delight, thinking only of Bertram, and wondering what manner of thing was this promised freedom whereof her lover had spoken to her so confidently. She trusted him now; she knew he would do right, and right alone: whatever he advised, she would be safe in following. Next day, Robert went up to town to business as usual. He was immersed in palm-oil. By a quarter to two, Frida found herself in the fields. But, early as she went to fulfil her tryst, Bertram was there before her. He took her hand in his with a gentle pressure, and Frida felt a quick thrill she had never before experienced course suddenly through her. She looked around to right and left, to see if they were observed. Bertram noticed the instinctive movement. “My darling,” he said in a low voice, “this is intolerable, unendurable. It's an insult not to be borne that you and I can't walk together in the fields of England without being subjected thus to such a many-headed espionage. I shall have to arrange something before long so as to see you at leisure. I can't be so bound by all the taboos of your country.” She looked up at him trustfully. “As you will, Bertram,” she answered, without a moment's hesitation. “I know I'm yours now. Let it be what it may, I can do what you tell me.” He looked at her and smiled. He saw she was pure woman. He had met at last with a sister soul. There was a long, deep silence. Frida was the first to break it with words. “Why do you always call them taboos, Bertram?” she asked at last, sighing.