Gradually her eyes became riveted on the glass before her, for in it she thought that she saw the door move.  Next second, she was sure that it was moving, very slowly; the hinges took an age to turn.  What could be behind it?  At last it was open, and in the glass Angela saw framed in darkness the head and shoulders of George Caresfoot.  At first she believed that her mind deceived her, that it was an apparition.  No, there was no mistake.  But the respirator, the hollow cough and decrepitude of the morning—­where were they?

With horror in her heart, she turned and faced him.  Seeing that he was observed, he staggered into the room with a step which was half drunken and half jaunty, but which belied the conflict of passions written on his brow.  He spoke—­his voice sounded hoarse and hollow, and was ill-tuned to his words.

“You did not expect me perhaps—­wonder how I got here!  Jakes let me in; he has got a proper respect for marital rights, has Jakes.  You looked so pretty, I could not make up my mind to disturb you.  Quite a romantic meeting, is it not?”

“You are a dying man.  How did you come here?”

“Dying! my dear wife; not a bit of it.  I am no more dying than you are.  I have been ill, it is true, but that is only because you have fretted me so.  The dying was only a little ruse to get your consent.  All is fair in love and war, you know; and of course you never really believed in that precious agreement.  That was nothing but a bit of maidenly shyness, eh?”

Angela stood still as a stone, a look of horror on her face.

“Then you don’t know what you have cost me.  Your father’s price was a hundred and fifty thousand, at least that is what it came to, the old shark!  It isn’t every man who would come down like for a girl, now is it?  It shows a generous mind, doesn’t it?”

Still she uttered not a syllable.

“Angela,” he said, changing his tone to one of hoarse earnestness, “don’t look at me like that, because, even if you are a bit put out at the trick I have played you, just think it was because I loved you so much, Angela.  I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t really.  It is not every man who would go through all that I have gone through for you; it is no joke to sham consumption for three months, I can tell you; but we will have many a laugh over that.  Why don’t you answer me, instead of standing there just like the Andromeda in my study?”

The simile was an apt one, the statue of the girl awaiting her awful fate wore the same hopeless, helpless look of vacant terror which was upon Angela’s face now.  But its mention recalled Lady Bellamy and the ominous incident in which that statue had figured, and he hastened to drown recollection in action.

“Come,” he said, “you will forgive me, won’t you?  It was all done for love of you.”  And he moved towards her.

As he came she seemed to collect her energies; the fear left her face, and in its stead there shone a great and awful blaze of indignation.