“I was up in Holloway. I suppose you know it? And there was a strong man dying a helpless invalid, and his sister breaking her heart, and a woman from the opposite flat, who said she stood for nothing in the world but a letter of the alphabet. And all round was gloom, and murk, and shabbiness, and hard, pitiless facts. I came home in the tube, and all the passengers seemed to look like lifeless, starved, white-faced mummies. They made me feel frightened. I wondered where joy had fled to. “And here, was it just like this all the time?... flowers, and sweet scents, and spring, and hopefulness?... And scarcely any one to enjoy it all; while those white-faced, vacant mummies were journeying foolishly to and fro in that stuffy, detestable tube.” “You shouldn’t go to such places. What have you to do with Holloway, and shabbiness, and starving people? If you belonged to me, I wouldn’t let you go.” “Of course I have to do with them. We all have. But I don’t know what. And it frightens me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt frightened before. It was like being brought up sharp against a stone wall.” His lips were suddenly a little stern. Stone walls had to be broken down. That was the use of being strong. One was not frightened; one just got a battering-ram, and forced a passage through. He would tell her soon, but not out here. Not just yet. “You are forgetting our compact. I’m surprised at you, Hal. I call it a slight on the sunshine.” “Why, so it is!... Avaunt, and leave my mind, Holloway! This day belongs to the spring.” And until they drew up outside the Criterion Grill, she kept her spirits high, and gave herself to the joy of the hour. CHAPTER XXXVI When they were half-way through dinner Hal asked, a trifle abruptly: “Now, what about this piece of news? What does it mean?” He looked away, unable to meet her candid eyes, and said: “I will tell you presently.” “Where? Why not now? Why all this secrecy?” “Because it is rather a big matter. You have sometimes said you would like to see the horns and trophies I brought back from my shooting-trip in Canada. Come and see them this evening.” “At your flat?” doubtfully. “Yes. Why not?” Hal knit her forehead and looked perplexed. She had so insistently declined to go hitherto, that she was loath now to change her mind. Yet she felt it was rather silly to have any fear of him now. In the end she went. It was only eight o’clock, and he promised to take her home about nine. Besides, something in his manner was baffling her, and she wanted to understand how they stood. Once in the sumptuous, beautifully furnished flat, however, he seemed to change. He came up to her suddenly, put his arms round her, and kissed her. “At last,” he breathed. “At last I’ve got you absolutely to myself.” “Don’t do that.” Hal disengaged herself and held him at arm’s length. For a moment she looked steadily into his eyes, and then she asked: