“Letty Lumley goes rather well,” continued her companion, unabashed; “and here we are--come along!” helping her out; then proceeding up the steps he ushered her into the entrance of the hotel. They passed through a great hall, entered a spacious lift, and were whirled to the first floor, where they were evidently expected. A ready man-servant came forward with (as it seemed to the lady) significant _empressement_, and threw open the door of a lofty sitting-room, furnished with heavy silk curtains, tall mirrors between the windows, a soft dark carpet, Oriental vases, cabinets, lounges, and luxurious chairs. A formal, expensive apartment, somewhat stiff and gloomy, but made beautiful with flowers. “All the flowers you like best, Letty,” explained Lumley, as the man departed with an order for tea, “every one of your favourites, to bid you welcome.” “Yes, lovely,” she faltered. “How--thoughtful of you!” and she buried her face in a great bowl of roses and carnations. How, she asked herself, was she, the coward of cowards, to tell Lancelot the truth? She raised her eyes, and was confronted by a Chinese incense burner; a monster in bronze, a sort of demon dog, with a high spiral tail, and a flat, diabolical head, which confronted her on an opposite cabinet, with a hideous grin. The bronze demon, as if alive and malignant, appeared to mock her, and say: “You know you cannot do it, you little born fool!” She turned away, and looked out of the window, with misty eyes and a fluttering heart--aware that, her life had reached a desperate climax! How could she tell Lancelot, so loyal, so chivalrous, and devoted, that she had changed her mind in the train, and was determined to return to Cara by the half-past eight express? In spite of her most determined efforts, tears dropped on her blouse, and Lancelot, who had been anxiously watching her, drew her tenderly towards him, and as she sobbed on his shoulder said, ‘There, there, there!’ as if he were comforting a child. Steel herself against her lover as she might, his presence affected her deeply. “I understand _all_ about it--this has been an awful wrench for you, a terrible day; but now you must look forward, not backwards any more. The future is ours, and I have ever so much to say to you.” “And I to you,” she murmured, drawing away from him, and drying her eyes as she spoke. She glanced nervously about the room--a room to be imprinted on her memory as long as memory existed: for here she must part with Lancelot, and for ever. It would be, so to speak, a chamber of death, and at the thought she shuddered. How morbid she was growing, or was she a little mad? There was that grinning devil confronting her, with wide-open jaws, flattened ears, and staring eyes, and the background of this lofty, heavily furnished apartment seemed to weigh upon her senses; the perfume of the roses to stifle her. “Here is tea,” announced Captain Lumley. “Shall I pour it out and bring it over to you?”