She hadn't noticed where Peter was leading her. She found herself in a broad and quiet street, through which little traffic passed. The pavements, on either side of it, were lined with plane-trees. Houses stood far back from the road in gardens, with stone steps climbing up to them. She slipped her hand into Peter's arm. Now that Nan wasn't there to be pleased by it, she was willing to let him know that she was proud of him. In the silver twilight, when one sees with the imagination rather than with the eyes, she found his face like to one which had looked up at her suddenly and held her spell-bound in the gray blur of an Oxford street. “Is this the right way, Peter? Is it a short-cut? Are you taking me out of my way to lengthen our talk?” He laughed, rather excitedly she thought. “I like to hear you telling of the old days---- Hulloa! Why here's the Misses Jacobite's house! You remember what you said about women being on a raft--I think that explains them. No one came out from the land to take them off. Let's step inside and cheer them up.” “But Peter, my train----.” “Oh, there are plenty of trains--we needn't stop more than a second.” “You rascal!” She gave his arm a little hug. “I believe you had this in mind from the start.” “Perhaps I had.” When they were safe inside the hall and the door had closed behind them, his manner altered. She was conscious of it in a second. He no longer laughed, and he was more excited. “There's someone here who wants to meet you,” he informed her. “But who? Why didn't you tell me?” “I wanted to give you a surprise.” She looked annoyed and yet curious. “You must tell me. Is it a man or a woman?” He didn't dare to let her know that it was her husband. “You'll see presently.” She was beginning to protest; Miss Florence entered. Under her attempt at cordiality her face betrayed dismay, and something still less comfortable--judgment. Peter employed her entrance as an excuse for his own rapid exit. He soon returned. “They want to see you now.” Making the best of an awkward situation, Jehane exclaimed, “They! So there are several of them! It was only 'someone' at first.” She followed him up the stairs, trying to catch up with and question him; he was careful to keep sufficiently far ahead to prevent conversation. He opened a door on the landing--the door which led into the white room. He made as if he were going to accompany her, but, as she crossed the threshold, stepped back and closed the door. “You!” The man held out his arms. When she stood rigid and did not stir, he dragged himself across the bed, as if to come to her. “Don't.” Her voice was sudden like a whip cracked.