I looked at her contemplatively. Her little person was almost lost in a huge sealskin coat, and her ungloved hands were blazing with diamonds. As she talked her white teeth (she had beautiful teeth) gleamed, and her black eyes flashed in their sallow setting. She was an odd-looking creature. Every now and then she darted swift, anxious glances towards us, once she paused and made a strenuous effort to overhear what we were saying. She need not have troubled herself. I barely heard what Bruce Deville was saying to me; my answers to him were purely mechanical. I was scarcely conscious whether it was indeed I who was sitting there within a few yards of that pale-faced, composed woman from whose lips only a few minutes ago I had heard that story which seemed to me yet like a dark, shadowy nightmare. The echoes of her passionate words seemed still lingering around the dimly lit room. Once or twice I raised my hand to my temples--my head was reeling. At last I could bear it no longer. The irony of small talk was too bitter. A sense of suffocation came over me. I rose to my feet and made my excuses. Scarcely a word passed between the woman whom I had learned to know as Adelaide Fortress and myself. I touched her fingers, and they were as cold as ice. Then, with a single look at her dark eyes, I left the room. Bruce Deville followed me out. The girl too had sprung up, and was making her hasty adieux. Before she could leave the room, however, Bruce Deville had reached my side. “I am coming home with you, Miss Ffolliot,” he said, in my ear. I did not answer him. We were half-way down the path when Miss Berdenstein’s shrill voice reached us. “Mr. Deville!” He paused. Involuntarily I stopped too. “You will take me home, Mr. Deville, won’t you?” she said. “I couldn’t possibly find the way by myself; and, besides, I should be terrified to death. It is so dark. I should not have dreamed of staying so late if I had been alone.” He muttered something profane under his breath. I started to walk on. “Won’t you be here when I come back,” he inquired, brusquely. “I was only going a few steps with Miss Ffolliot.” “I am quite ready to start now,” she answered; “and I have said goodbye to Mrs. Fortress. I really don’t see how I can stay any longer; and I dare not go a step alone. It is almost pitch dark. Shall I walk home with Miss Ffolliot and you first?” I was almost out of hearing when she had finished, for at the commencement of her speech I had quickened my pace. When I clambered up the bank to reach the footpath I looked behind. They were walking along the road together--an oddly assorted couple. His shoulders were up--a bad sign--and he was taking long strides, to keep up with which she had almost to run, holding her skirts in both hands, and picking her way through the mud. Behind in the doorway of the Yellow House I saw a woman, pale and motionless, watching me with wistful, sorrowing eyes. But I turned my head and hurried away. CHAPTER XXI