Suddenly Barbara rose to her feet in the carriage. She had seen a girl emerge from a small temple and turn into a side street. "Fast! Drive fast, Taka," she called quickly. "The street to the left!" He obeyed, but a _soba-ya_ had halted his shining copper cart of steaming buckwheat, and momentarily delayed them. The hastening figure was farther away when they rounded the turning. Barbara clasped her hands together. "It _was_ Haru! It _was_ Haru! I am _sure_!" she whispered. The girl slipped through a gateway hung with wistaria. As Barbara sprang to the ground she was hurrying through the garden. "Haru!" But the flying figure did not seem to hear the call. Barbara ran quickly after her along the gravel path. * * * * * In the house, Austen Ware, standing with the _kimono_ in his hand, had heard the rumble of carriage wheels. He had left the outer _shoji_ open, and through the aperture he saw the slim form hastening toward the doorway. An exclamation broke from his lips. Behind her, just entering the gate, was Barbara! For a breath he stared. A cool, thriving suspicion--one bred of his anger and humiliation, that shamed his manhood--ran through him. Barbara, _there_? Was it another _rendezvous_, then? The fierce, self-dishonoring doubt merged into the mad jealousy that already burned him like a brand. He dropped the _kimono_, drew back the _shikiri_ of the unused apartment, and stepped inside. Swiftly and noiselessly the light partition slipped into place behind him. CHAPTER XXXVII [Japanese: Donto] Through the thin paper pane, parted by his moistened finger, Ware's hot, hollow eyes saw the Japanese girl come into the room. She had not waited to shut the _shoji_ behind her. She drew quick sobbing breaths and her eyes had the desperate look of a hunted animal. She ran into the sleeping apartment and closed its _shikiri_. Barbara had halted at the doorway. As she stood looking in, her eyes fell on the mauve _kimono_ with its silver camelias. It was the robe Haru had worn the first evening she came to her. If she had doubted, all doubt was now gone. An instant she hesitated, then, with sudden resolution, knocked on the grill and stepped across the threshold. The man who watched could not solve the puzzle, but in that instant the sick suspicion he had harbored became a cold and lifeless thing in his breast. A sense of shame rushed through him as he saw her gaze wander about the interior with its veneer of the foreign: to the disordered desk--the lounge and its litter of books--the photograph on the wall--the open panel with its champagne bottles. In her glance distaste had grown to a quick question. The coarse suggestions of the place were welling over her. Whose house was this? Had Haru seen her and was she hiding from her?