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.

She was standing in the bathroom with her dress off, drying her neck and arms all fresh from the steaming water when the front door bell rang. She stared reassuringly up at herself in the little fixed mirror over the basin, for her heart seemed to have stopped. She heard the sound of her own blood winnowing in her ears, saw her eyes dilated and shining. And in that instant she knew she had come from marriage immune; she was giving herself as a sealed and virgin fountain into the hands of Louis. He, a man, might never know it, but it was true, and she was glad.

Flying back as she was, in her white petticoat and little white, sleeveless under-bodice, to the firelit room, she snatched the shawl off the couch and wrapped herself in it hurriedly. The bell in the basement pealed a second time. That it should sound a third time was not to be borne. A gay figure, she sped across the dark hall. Noiseless she went on stocking foot, trailing the long white fringes of the shawl behind her.

Yes, it was he! He had taken off his hat. As Joanna darted forward between the pillars which were like the trunks of beech-trees, she could see his shadow on the glass of the door. Against the thread-like, waving tangle of the laburnum, his head showed like a satyr’s, eager and suffering. His suffering pierced her breast like a joyous spear.