She rushed from the room and down the stairs, in terrible anxiety lest he should have already left the hotel. To her intense relief, she saw him sitting in one of the cane chairs in the vestibule smoking his after-lunch cigar. He threw it away as he caught sight of her at the head of the stairs, breathless, and holding the balusters, and went up to meet her. “My poor child,” said he in an anxious tone. “What is the matter?” “Oh, Everard--I don’t want any more to be left alone. Don’t think me silly and cowardly. I am afraid of all kinds of things.” “Of course I ’ll come and sit with you a little,” he replied kindly. They entered her room together. Yvonne lay down. Her head was splitting with nervous headache. The Canon tended her in his grave way and sat down by the window with a book. Yvonne felt very guilty, but yet comforted by his presence. At the end of an hour, he looked at his watch and rose from his seat. “Are you easier now?” “You are not going to the Kursaal, Everard?” “I am afraid Emmeline is expecting me.” She signed to him to approach, and put her arms round his neck. “Don’t go. Send her an excuse--and take me for a drive. It would do me good, and I should so love to be alone with you.” It was the very first time in her life that Yvonne had consciously cajoled a man. Her face flushed hot with misgivings. It was with a mixture of her sex’s shame and triumph that she heard him say. “Whatever you like, dear. It is still your holiday.” CHAPTER XIII--Dis Aliter Visum But the best laid schemes of Yvonnes and men often come to nothing. While she was devising, on her drive along the coast, a plan for spending a quiet dangerless evening at the hotel, Mrs. Winstanley was sitting in solitary dignity at the concert, nursing her wrath over Professor Drummond’s “Natural Law in the Spiritual world,” a book which she often perused when she wished to accentuate the rigorous attitude of her mind. Yvonne had reckoned without Mrs. Winstanley. Otherwise she would have offered her a seat in the carriage. As it was, Mrs. Winstanley felt more resentful than ever. Under the impression that the Canon was to accompany her to the Kursaal, she had graciously dispensed with the escort of the Wilmingtons, who had gone off to see bicycle races at the Vélodrome. She was left in the lurch. To dislike this is human. To wrap oneself up in one’s sore dignity is more human still, and there was much humanity that lurked, unsuspected by herself, in Mrs. Winstanley’s bosom. It asserted itself, further, in certain curiosities. She had seen that morning what had escaped the Canon’s notice--the stranger’s grasp on Yvonne’s arm and the insolent admiration on his face. This fact, coupled with Yvonne’s agitation, had put her upon the track of scandal. The result was, that at the concert she made interesting discoveries, and, piecing things together in her mind afterwards, bided her time to make use of them.