For a second, no more, the vision was granted me. A tall, slender form rose from its kneeling position before the fire, and in so moving passed beyond my line of sight. But my pulses leaped, and I rejoiced in the good fortune which had brought me at an hour when Karine was not absent. I stepped quickly from the cab and would have given much for the right of a greater intimacy--a right to go to the window and knock, begging the girl I loved to let me in, to grant me the heaven of ten minutes alone with her, before the necessities of convention called upon me to ask for Lady Tressidy. I imagined what it would be to have this right; I pictured myself tapping at the panes of the long French window, I saw the dainty girlish form coming toward me, the start of surprise, the flush which I might read as I would, the raising of the latch, and the two warm little hands held out to me in welcome. But it was all a dream, vanishing as quickly as the rainbow colours in a bubble, and leaving only the darkness of the dull winter twilight behind. Such privileges were for a happier man than I: I was at best only her "friend." Never could I hope, whether success or failure crowned the effort I was impatient to begin--for more than that. Instead I walked soberly up to the door and knocked, telling the cabman that he might wait--and wishing that he might have to wait for long. Presently in answer to my summons a footman appeared (a fellow I remembered to have seen at the town house when I had called), and it struck me that, as I enquired if Lady Tressidy was at home, he eyed me more piercingly than a well-trained servant usually eyes a guest. "I am sorry, sir," he answered with a slight hesitation, "that her ladyship is out at present. What name shall I say when she returns?" "Mr. Stanton," I unsuspectingly replied, though it did dimly occur to me that the man might have left me to give him my card. It seemed almost too good to be true that Lady Tressidy should be away from home, for now I felt practically certain that I should have the unexpected joy of seeing Karine alone, speaking to her far more unrestrainedly than I could do in the presence of her hostess, and explaining in a way satisfactory to us both, my intended absence. "I am sorry," I hypocritically remarked, "not to see Lady Tressidy; but I have come some distance, and perhaps Miss Cunningham would spare me a few minutes." "I--I am afraid, sir"--still stammering uncomfortably--"that Miss Cunningham is away with her ladyship." I was astonished at this piece of information, for I was absolutely sure that it was Karine whose shining halo of hair and white gown I had seen in that rosy space between the window curtains. Of course the footman might honestly believe that she was not at home; but I did not mean lightly to abandon the chance of a few words with her. "I think you are mistaken about that," I boldly said. "Please be good enough at any rate to enquire."