“If I look at her again” (was the thought in _his_ mind) “I shall fall at her feet and own that I am in love with her!” With downcast eyes he placed a chair for her. With downcast eyes she bowed to him and took it. A dead silence followed. Never was any human misunderstanding more intricately complete than the misunderstanding which had now established itself between those two. Mercy’s work-basket was near her. She took it, and gained time for composing herself by pretending to arrange the colored wools. He stood behind her chair, looking at the graceful turn of her head, looking at the rich masses of her hair. He reviled himself as the weakest of men, as the falsest of friends, for still remaining near her--and yet he remained. The silence continued. The billiard-room door opened again noiselessly. The face of the listening woman appeared stealthily behind it. At the same moment Mercy roused herself and spoke: “Won’t you sit down?” she said, softly, still not looking round at him, still busy with her basket of wools. He turned to get a chair--turned so quickly that he saw the billiard-room door move, as Grace Roseberry closed it again. “Is there any one in that room?” he asked, addressing Mercy. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I thought I saw the door open and shut again a little while ago.” He advanced at once to look into the room. As he did so Mercy dropped one of her balls of wool. He stopped to pick it up for her--then threw open the door and looked into the billiard-room. It was empty. Had some person been listening, and had that person retreated in time to escape discovery? The open door of the smoking-room showed that room also to be empty. A third door was open--the door of the side hall, leading into the grounds. Julian closed and locked it, and returned to the dining-room. “I can only suppose,” he said to Mercy, “that the billiard-room door was not properly shut, and that the draught of air from the hall must have moved it.”