He renewed his apologies, and she asked him to talk about something else. He made a hesitating attempt to revert to the key in which they had conversed at Bignor; but obtained no response from her. At last, after another long silence, he could bear it no longer, but went down on his knees beside her, and cried impulsively: "Virgie, you must forgive me! Don't be so unhappy, dear!" She had been lost in the mazes of her own thoughts, which wandered always to Gaunt and her return to Omberleigh. She turned to Rosenberg with a start, and said hurriedly: "Oh, don't! What are you talking of? Get up, those people might come in." The words were hasty, the tone so void of all warmth, all friendliness, that it froze the genial current of his soul into something like consternation. If the result of his escapade was to be that Virgie took a dislike to him, things were indeed hopeless. She rose, and picked up her steaming shoes. "Good night! I am going upstairs to lie down. If the car comes, you must call me." He made no objection at all, but held open the door in silence. The ungracious woman, summoned from the kitchen in the act of yawning prodigiously, ushered her into a room as cold as a well, with a mingled perfume of pomatum and apple-garret which turned her what Tony would have described as "niffy." She took off her skirt, and asked that it might be hung before the kitchen fire. She could not, however, undress, since she had with her no necessaries for the night, and the landlady volunteered no assistance. She lay down in wretched discomfort, thinking that Gerald downstairs, with a fire, had far the best of the bargain; but she was determined not to go down to him. Until the last quarter of an hour, though she was acutely alive to the inconvenience of the situation, it had not struck her as awkward. Now this aspect had presented itself, and she felt a new mental disquiet which greatly increased her physical suffering. In view of her late ill-health, and the care which her husband had exercised in order that she might recover completely, the accident was most unfortunate. From that point of view, if from no other, she felt certain of Gaunt's displeasure; and a creeping terror, vague and formless, prevented her from resting. She hardly slept until after dawn, when she dropped into heavy sleep, only to wake, affrighted, about seven with a sore throat and a burning forehead. She sat up, dizzy and sick. Yet if there was one thing more certain than another, it was that she could not possibly stay where she was. Somehow or other she must get back to Worthing at once, even though she could not stand upon her feet. She flung herself out of bed, animated with the strength of desperation. Peering into the small, cracked mirror, she was encouraged by finding that she did not look ill. Her temperature was, as a matter of fact, 101, and her colour was the flush of fever, but she did not know that.