In the perturbation of the moment she failed to see, what was infinitely more material, that the occupant of the cab was Valentine Serracauld; that he had leant forward in sudden, eager curiosity as she passed down the steps of the house to which he was driving; and that, as she turned her head in his direction, he had drawn quickly back into the shadow of his seat. CHAPTER XVI Almost immediately a second cab appeared, and, finding it at her disposal, Clodagh hailed it eagerly and gave the address of the flat. As the horse sped away in the direction of her home, she sat almost motionless, her only gesture being to lift her hands to her eyes from time to time, as if to shut out some near and unpleasant vision. Life in its crudest, its most repulsive aspect stared at her out of the darkness. She sat crushed by the disillusionment of the last hour. And a new furtiveness--born of the new realisation--assailed her when at last she stepped from the cab at her own door. With an instinctive lessening of her natural fearlessness, she hurried through the vestibule and passed straight to the lift. Gaining her own door, she let herself in by her latch-key, and then paused, looking fearfully and eagerly about, in expectation of some unwished-for sound. But everything in the flat was still; and crossing the hall, she entered her own room. The electric light had been switched on and the place set in order, and Simonetta sat at the dressing-table, mending a piece of lace. "No one has come back?" Clodagh asked. "No one, signora." Simonetta arose and turned to her mistress. Seeing the expression on her face, Clodagh nervously anticipated her words. "My head still aches," she said. "I think you may go. I should like to be alone." From previous knowledge of her moods, the woman made no protestations, but folded up her work and went quietly towards the door. As she gained it, Clodagh turned. "Simonetta!" "Yes, signora?" "Tell the servants they are to say nothing to any one of my having gone out to-night. You understand." "I understand, signora." "That is all--good-night!" "Good-night, signora!" It would be futile to relate the thoughts that passed through Clodagh's mind in the hour that followed Simonetta's departure; but when, at half-past eleven, Nance returned from the theatre, and, hurrying to the bedroom, opened the door swiftly and anxiously, she was standing by one of the open windows, her hat and veil still on, her gaze fixed resolutely on the shadowy trees of the park. Crossing the threshold softly, Nance tip-toed into the room. "Clo," she whispered, "'how are you? Better?" Then she paused in pleased surprise. "What? You've been out? Then you _are_ better. How glad Walter will be! He insisted on coming back to know how you were." At Gore's name, Clodagh started and looked round. "Walter here?" she said. "Yes; but, Clo! what's the matter? You've been crying."