“You do not kiss me, Noll,” she complained passionately. Noll unlocked her arms: “Hush!” said he, and walked to the window. She came and nestled against his shoulder. “Noll, I can’t live this nun’s life----” He put her gently from him: “This is madness,” said he--“utter madness----” He strode to the door--stopped half way: “My God!” he said hoarsely. She followed the gaze of his eyes to the white mantel: “What is it, Noll?” “There is the picture of the girl--to whom I--am--betrothed.” She roused, and stepping, catlike, to the mantel, took down the little portrait of Betty and flung it upon the white marble hearth. The glass smashed, flying into a hundred tinkling pieces. Noll watched her coldly: “Where is Betty Modeyne?” he demanded roughly. The girl faltered, uttered a moan, and leaning her handsome head on the white hand that clutched the mantel, gazed down upon the shattered thing. “Where is Betty Modeyne?” he asked, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. She sighed, and said miserably: “I’m sorry, Noll--but, thank God, I cannot tell you. She is gone.” CHAPTER XXXIX _Wherein, the Barber letting the Cat out of the Bag, we give Chase_ In the gathering darkness of his dingy little room over the southern gate of New Inn sat Noll Baddlesmere in his shirt-sleeves, cudgelling his wandering wits for epigrams and the dramatic situation; yet though the dun walls did not distract his attention with the restlessness of over-abundant gaieties, nor the sedate quietude nor the narrow view from his grimy windows strain his nerves--indeed, he could scarce hear the turmoil of the traffic in the great Strand hard by--he was unable to settle down to hard work, nor could he rid himself of the fret of his thoughts. For hours he had thus striven to banish his loneliness, but our deceptions fail at last even to deceive ourselves. His instincts were bent on finding Betty; and the gloom of the dying day, though it thwarted his eyesight and raised disturbing ghosts of thought, held the whisper of the fact that he had come near to the flying glimpse of her. It was as though her skirts had rustled across his dreams in the ornate halls of the Malahides, flipped into a baffling doorway, and vanished into mocking silence--yet but a door between. He fretted that he could find no slightest trace of her. He flung down his pen; arose from his desk in the dusky gloom; dressed for the street; and strolled out of his rooms aimlessly into the grey of the evening that held the old quadrangle in a smoky stillness. In the vexed traffic of the Strand he suddenly bethought him of Devlin; and straightway turned his steps towards the barber’s. As he reached the corner of the street where Devlin plied the scissors, he saw Myre hail a hansom and drive off in it. Noll, entering the barber’s room, was greeted by the little cockney Irishman with frantic delight; and Noll himself was glad to step back across the threshold into his old world.