No; to see him again, feeling as she felt now, would only mean to see him in a mood of weakness, that might make her less able to withstand him. She must rely only on Lorraine and Dick, and try to stand by her previous determination. She would see Lorraine directly she left the office the next day, and in the meantime she would try and hide from Dudley the extent of her dismay. But in spite of her resolve, when she rested her head on the pillow, the hot tears squeezed through her closed eyelids, and in dumb misery she told herself Dudley was lost to her for ever. She awoke the next morning with a dull, aching sense of misery that had robbed the sunshine of its warmth, and the day of its brightness; but as she dressed she strengthened herself in a resolve to try and hide her chagrin, and make some amends to Dudley for her reception of the news. “I suppose you felt pretty disgusted with me last night,” she said at the breakfast-table. “I’m sorry, but you took me so violently by surprise.” He had taken his seat, looking grave and displeased, but his face relaxed as he replied: “I’m afraid I was rather sudden. It seemed the easiest”—he hesitated, then added—“I hope you’ll try to get on with Doris.” “Of course.” Hal turned away on some slight pretext. “I’d hate giving you up to any one—you know I would—we’ve—we’ve—been very happy together here, and—” but her voice broke suddenly. Dudley looked unhappy, but he steadied his voice and said cheerfully: “Well, it needn’t be very different. If you and Doris will get fond of each other, it will be the same, only better. Of course you will live with us.” “Oh no”; and she tried to smile lightly—“I couldn’t—possibly live without Mrs. Carr now. I should never be properly dressed, for one thing, and I should always be forgetting important engagements.” She changed the subject quickly, seeing he was about to remonstrate. “Have you seen Ethel and Basil since—since—” “No; I’m going to see Basil this afternoon, after taking Doris to Wimbledon to see Langfier fly, and I shall stay to dinner. Will you come up this evening?” “No; I’m going out. Perhaps tomorrow—” she hesitated, as if swallowing a lump in her throat. “You might give my love to Doris, and say I’ll come soon.” She saw Dudley glance at her inquiringly, and recklessly dashed into another subject, talking at random until she left. In the afternoon she hurried straight off to Lorraine’s flat, arriving a few minutes after Lorraine had come in from a walk in the Park. She was standing by the window, drawing off some long gloves, and even Hal was struck by a sort of newness about her—a bloom and a quiet radiance that was like a renewal of youth. She was beautifully dressed as ever, but with a far simpler note than usual—something which suggested she wished to look charming, without attracting attention; something which suppressed the actress in favour of the woman.