They both came down the gallery with me, and insisted upon each lighting a candle from the row of burnished silver candlesticks in the hall, which they presented to me with great mock homage. It annoyed me, I don’t know why, and I suddenly froze up, and declined them both, while I said good-night again stiffly, and walked in my most stately manner up the stairs. I could see Lord Robert’s eyebrows puckered into a more plaintive expression than ever, while he let the beautiful silver candlestick hang, dropping the grease on to the polished oak floor. Mr. Carruthers stood quite still, and put his light back on the table. His face was cynical and rather amused. I can’t say what irritation I felt, and immediately decided to leave on the morrow--but where to, Fate, or the Devil, could only know! When I got to my room a lump came in my throat. Véronique had gone to bed, tired out with her day’s packing. I suddenly felt utterly alone, all the exaltation gone. For the moment I hated the two downstairs. I felt the situation equivocal, and untenable, and it had amused me so much an hour ago. It is stupid and silly, and makes one’s nose red, but I felt like crying a little before I got into bed. BRANCHES, _Saturday afternoon, Nov. 5th._ THIS morning I woke with a headache, to see the rain beating against my windows, and mist and fog--a fitting day for the fifth of November. I would not go down to breakfast. Véronique brought me mine to my sitting-room fire, and, with Spartan determination, I packed steadily all the morning. About twelve a note came up from Lord Robert; I paste it in: “DEAR MISS TRAVERS,--Why are you hiding? Was I a bore last night? Do forgive me and come down. Has Christopher locked you in your room? I will murder the brute if he has! “Yours very sincerely, “ROBERT VAVASOUR.” “Can’t, I am packing,” I scribbled in pencil on the envelope, and gave it back to Charles, who was waiting in the hall for the answer. Two minutes after Lord Robert walked into the room, the door of which the footman had left open. “I have come to help you,” he said in that voice of his that sounds so sure of a welcome you can’t snub him; “but where are you going?” “I don’t know,” I said, a little forlornly, and then bent down and vigorously collected photographs. “Oh, but you can’t go to London by yourself!” he said, aghast. “Look here, I will come up with you, and take you to my aunt, Lady Merrenden. She is such a dear, and I am sure when I have told her all about you she will be delighted to take care of you for some days until you can hunt round.” He looked such a boy, and his face was so kind, I was touched. “Oh no, Lord Robert! I cannot do that, but I thank you. I don’t want to be under an obligation to any one,” I said firmly. “Mr. Carruthers suggests a way out of the difficulty--that I should marry him, and stay here. I don’t think he means it really, but he pretends he does.”