And Janet sat and played--softly, entering into the dramatic situation notwithstanding the repugnance and revolt in her heart. She could not help entering into her _rôle_--soothing the invalid with soft music, rolling forth gently from the piano, in subdued notes, the spirit of a nocturne which was full of balmy night air and the soft influences of the stars--yet in herself feeling all that was unlike to this, an impatience which she could scarcely restrain, a fierce dislike and resentment. He had made her share in Dolff’s ridiculousness, and now he made her play him to sleep like a slave, like something that belonged to him and had no right to contravene his will. Her heart rebelled, though her fingers obeyed. Oh, if he could but be pushed away--banished somewhere out of her sphere, never to be seen again. His laugh was intolerable; his look more intolerable still. Some time or other, she felt, she would say to him, before them all, “Don’t look at me, don’t take me into your confidence. I will not have your confidence.” She knew what he would do if she were driven to such a folly. He would open his eyes wide and appeal to Gussy to know what was the matter. “Have I said anything to Miss Summerhayes that could convey that idea?” he would ask with the most guileless innocence. And Janet knew that there would be nothing to reply. All this was while he had not remembered, while the events of that night had not returned to his mind. But they would return, she felt sure, as he got stronger. He would remember everything--the share she had in it, and Dolff’s face in his passion. Oh, dreadful thought! for then what would he do? CHAPTER XXXVII. IT was not till a few days after this that Meredith’s growing strength permitted a reference to the circumstances of his “illness,” as they all called it, which, of course, was not at all concerted, but occurred quite unintentionally in the course of the conversation. One or two things had been said before he took any part in the talk himself. At length, rousing himself from a sort of reverie, he said. “How was it, I wonder, that I was so lucky as to be knocked down at your door? Whoever the man was, he did me a good turn there; but how was it that I was found at your door? It was not in the evening, you say--which would have explained itself.” “It was about five o’clock,” said Julia, suddenly interposing. She had treasured up all the details in her mind. “About five o’clock!” said Meredith, looking round him with elevated eyebrows. “Now, tell me, some one, what could I be doing at five o’clock at this door?” “And you were expected to dinner at half-past seven,” said Julia again. “Evidently,” said Meredith, “she has entered into the mystery of the situation. What was I doing at five o’clock, being expected at half-past seven, at this door?”