She had only to walk on, to call out, and she was saved! But she neither spoke nor went forward. Instead she retreated with bird-like swiftness into a lane immediately upon her right, and there waited and watched, thanking the dim stars that the arrival had been during her absence from the house. Had she been in she must have been caught.

Meanwhile the old lady, after gazing reproachfully at the dark windows from the pavement, reascended the steps and rang the door-bell with vigour. Joanna heard it screech in its socket, once, twice; and between whiles she heard the visitor’s knuckles rapping sharply upon the glass pane of the door. Almost five minutes passed, and the girl in hiding, though her reason told her it was a merely a question of waiting, was half dead with fear.

At last Mrs. Boyd gave it up and walked slowly away, passing the nearer end of Joanna’s lane, and now and then looking back as if she still expected the house to give some sign. And Joanna pressed her body closer against the wall and kept quite still.

No sooner had she drawn a breath freely, than heavy footsteps coming up the lane from the far side struck a fresh terror into her. It was a policeman. He looked curiously at her as he passed, only seeing her face as a pale triangle beneath her hat, and under his official glance she clutched her purchases as if they were stolen goods. Her fingers were stiff with the dragging strings, and the wet stalks of a bunch of anemones had soaked through her gloves.

By this time, however, she knew that Mrs. Boyd must be well round the corner, so she made bold to leave the lane. The policeman on burly guard at the mouth of it followed her movements furtively and she could hardly endure it. She had to drop her parcels on the outside mat as she fumbled with chilled hands for the latch-key. But at last she was in, and at once she sank down in security.

Vanished now was her mirage of serenity, gone her exhilaration. She felt stripped, dislocated, defenceless. And it was Louis who had brought her to this! She hated and blamed him bitterly.

But immediately upon her blame rose the clear, unsummoned memory of his face as she had first seen it. His face swam up at her out of the fog of reproachful thought, and under his teasing smile she read as never before his sadness and dissatisfaction.

Thought followed thought then that softened and calmed her. Having put her anemones in water she remembered that she had eaten scarcely anything since the morning. She must have food at once and a change of clothes, must wash the dust and weariness from her skin.

Before going out she had put on a kettle which now boiled noisily. The firelit room was peaceful, and she devoured some sandwiches with relish.