Henrietta went upstairs behind them, slowly, not to overtake Sophia. She did not want to be left down there with Aunt Rose. She wanted solitude, and she knew now what people meant when they talked of being in a dream. Under her hand the slim mahogany rail felt like the cold, firm hand of Francis Sales when, after their last dance together, he had led her on to the terrace again. They were alone there, for the wind was very cold, but for Henrietta it was part of the exquisite mantle in which she was wrapped. She was wrapped in the glamour of the night and the stars and the excitement of the dance, yet suddenly, looking down at the dark river, she was chilled. She said, and her voice seemed to be carried off by the wind, “Aunt Rose is going to take me away.” He bent down to her. “What did you say?” She put her lips close to his ear. “Aunt Rose is going to take me away.” He dropped her hand. “She can’t do that.” “But she will. I shall have to go,” and he said gloomily, “I knew you would leave me, too.” She felt helpless and lonely: her happiness had gone; the wind had risen. She said loudly, “It’s not my fault. What can I do? I shall come back.” He stood quite still and did not look at her. “You don’t think of me.” “I think of nothing else. How can I tell her I can’t leave you? She has been good to me.” “She was once good to me, too. That won’t last long.” “Ah, that’s not true!” she cried. “Go, then, if she’s more to you than I am. I’m used to that.” She moved away from him. Why did he not help her? He was a man; he loved her, but he was cruel. Ah, the thought warmed her, it was his love that made him cruel: he needed her; he was lonely. Under her cloak, she clasped her gloved hands in a helplessness which must be conquered. What shall I do? she asked the stars. Across the river the cliff was sombre; it seemed to listen and to disapprove. The stars were kinder: they twinkled, they laughed, they understood, and the lights on the bridge glowed steadily with reassurance. She turned back to Francis Sales. “You must trust me,” she said firmly. He put his hands heavily on her shoulders. “I won’t let you go.” A murmur, inarticulate and delighted, escaped her lips. This was what she wanted. Very small and willing to be commanded, she leaned against him. “What will you do with me?” she whispered, secure in his strength. She laughed. “You will have to take me away yourself!” “You wouldn’t come,” he said with unexpected seriousness. So close to him that the wind could not steal the words, she answered, “I would do anything for one I loved.”