eight. Yes, the table was laid for her evidently--but there were giant
carnations, not roses, in the silver vase to-night. How quickly the
waiters seemed to bring things! And what a frightful lot there was to
eat! And dawdle as he would, by nine o'clock he had almost
finished. Perhaps it would be as well to send for a newspaper
again. Anything to delay his having to rise and go out. An anxious,
uncomfortable gnawing sense of expectancy dominated him. How
ridiculous for a woman to be so late! What cook could do justice to
his dishes if they were thus to be kept waiting? She couldn't possibly
have _ordered_ it for half past nine, surely! Gradually, as that
hour passed and his second cup of coffee had been sipped to its
finish, Paul felt a sickening sense of anger and disappointment. He
got up abruptly and went out. In the hall, coming from the corridor of
her rooms, he met the lady face to face.

Then rage with himself seized him. Why had he not waited? For no
possible reason could he go back now. And what a chance to look at her
missed--and all thrown away.

He sat sullenly down in the hall, resisting the temptation to go into
the beautiful night. At least he would see her on her way back. But he
waited until nearly eleven, and she never appeared, and then the
maddening thought came to him--she had probably passed to her rooms
along the terrace outside, under the lime-tree.

He bounded up, and stalked into the starlight. He could see through
the windows of the restaurant, and no one was there. Then he sat on
the bench again, under the ivy--but all was darkness and silence; and
thoroughly depressed, Paul at last went to bed.