‘Don’t turn me away; do see me—do see me!’ he said. ‘I asked for Lady Davenant—they told me she was at home. But it was you I wanted, and I wanted her to help me. I was going away—but I couldn’t. You look very ill—do listen to me! You don’t understand—I will explain everything. Ah, how ill you look!’ the young man cried, as the climax of this sudden, soft, distressed appeal. Laura, for all answer, tried to push past him, but the result of this movement was that she found herself enclosed in his arms. He stopped her, but she disengaged herself, she got her hand upon the door. He was leaning against it, so she couldn’t open it, and as she stood there panting she shut her eyes, so as not to see him. ‘If you would let me tell you what I think—I would do anything in the world for you!’ he went on.

‘Let me go—you persecute me!’ the girl cried, pulling at the handle.

‘You don’t do me justice—you are too cruel!’ Mr. Wendover persisted.

‘Let me go—let me go!’ she only repeated, with her high, quavering, distracted note; and as he moved a little she got the door open. But he followed her out: would she see him that night? Where was she going? might he not go with her? would she see him to-morrow?

‘Never, never, never!’ she flung at him as she hurried away. The butler was on the stairs, descending from above; so he checked himself, letting her go. Laura passed out of the house and flew into her cab with extraordinary speed, for Mr. Wendover heard the wheels bear her away while the servant was saying to him in measured accents that her ladyship would come down immediately.