"Mr. Chetwode shall have one later on," she promised. "I think that
very likely he will play at my table. Come."

They left the room together. She looked back for a moment before,
they disappeared and Arnold felt his heart give a little jump. She
was certainly the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and
there was something in her treatment of him, the subtle flattery of
her half appealing confidence, which went to his head like wine. The
door closed and he was left alone. He listened to their departing
footsteps. Then he looked around him, for the first time forming
some idea of his surroundings. He was in a very charming,
comfortable-looking apartment, with deep easy-chairs, a divan
covered with luxurious cushions, numbers of little tables covered
with photographs and flowers, a great bowl of hot-house roses, and
an oak cabinet with an oak background in the further corner of the
room, which was packed with curios. After his first brief
inspection, however, he felt scarcely any curiosity as to the
contents of the room. It was the window which drew him always
towards It. Once more he peered through the chink of the curtains.
He had not cared to turn out the lights, however, and for several
moments everything was indistinguishable. Then he saw that the two
figures still remained in very nearly the same position, except that
they had drawn, if anything, a little closer to the house.

A tiny clock upon the mantelpiece was ticking away the seconds.
Arnold had no idea how long he remained there watching. Suddenly,
however, he received a shock. For some time he had fancied that one
of the two figures had disappeared altogether, and now, outside on
the window-sill, scarcely a couple of feet from the glass through
which he was looking, a man's hand appeared and gripped the