Something of his overnight’s optimism remained with Philip when at eleven o’clock on the following morning he was ushered into Elizabeth’s rooms.  It was a frame of mind, however, which did not long survive his reception.  From the moment of his arrival, he seemed to detect a different atmosphere in his surroundings,—­the demeanour of Phoebe, his staunch ally, who admitted him without her usual welcoming smile; the unanalysable sense of something wanting in the dainty little room, overfilled with strong-smelling, hothouse flowers in the entrance and welcome of Elizabeth herself.  His eyes had ached for the sight of her.  He was so sure that he would know everything the moment she spoke.  Yet her coming brought only confusion to his senses.  She was different—­unexpectedly, bewilderingly different.  She had lost that delicate serenity of manner, that almost protective affection which he had grown to lean upon and expect.  She entered dressed for the street, smoking a cigarette, which was in itself unusual, with dark rings under her eyes, which seemed to be looking all around the room on some pretext or other, but never at him.

“Am I late?” she asked, a little breathlessly.  “I am so sorry.  Tell me, have you anything particular to do?”

“Nothing,” he answered.

“I want to go out of the city—­into the country, at once,” she told him feverishly.  “The car is waiting.  I ordered it for a quarter to eleven.  Let us start.”

“Of course, if you wish it,” he assented.

He opened the door but before she passed through he leaned towards her.  She shook her head.  His heart sank.  What could there be more ominous than this!

“I am not well,” she muttered.  “Don’t take any notice of anything I say or do for a little time.  I am like this sometimes—­temperamental, I suppose.  All great actresses are temperamental.  I suppose I am a great actress.  Do you think I am, Philip?”

He was following her down-stairs now.  He found it hard, however, to imitate the flippancy of her tone.

“The critics insist upon it,” he observed drily.  “Evidently your audience last night shared their opinion.”

She nodded.

“I love them to applaud like that, and yet—­audiences don’t really know, do they?  Perhaps—­”

She relapsed into silence, and they took their places in the car.  She settled herself down with a little sigh of content and drew the rug over her.

“As far as you can go, John,” she told the man, “but you must get back at six o’clock.  The country, mind—­not the shore.”

They started off.

“So you were there last night?” she murmured, leaning back amongst the cushions with an air of relief.

“I was there for a few moments.  I wrote my note to you in the box office.”

She shook the memory away.

“And afterwards?”

“I went to one of the clubs down-town.”

“What did you do there?” she enquired.  “Gossip?”