“How long?” asked the lawyer, jerkily.

“Probably until morning.  Or at any minute,” said the doctor, indifferently.  He thought it the best thing Gracie could do.

Vandervelde nodded.  Then, moved by one of those impulses under the influence of which the most conservative and careful people do things that astonish nobody more than themselves, he got into his car and went after Anne Champneys.

* * * * *

Anne was for the moment alone.  The spring dusk had just fallen, and she was glad to sit for a breathing-space in the shadowy room.  Berkeley Hayden had just left.  His visit had been momentous, and as a result she was shaken to the depths.  She had come face to face with destiny, and she was called upon to make a decision.

For the first time Hayden had broken the rigid rule of conduct he had set for himself.  He felt that he could endure no more.  He had to know.  They had chatted pleasantly, idly.  But of a sudden Berkeley had risen from his chair, gone to the window, looked out, turned and faced her.

“Anne,” said he, directly, “what are you going to do about Peter Champneys?”

She started as if she had received an electric shock.  After a moment, looking at him with a confused and startled stare, she stammered: 

“W-why do you ask!”

“I have to know,” said Hayden, and his voice trembled.  “You must be aware, Anne, that I love you.  I have loved you from the first moment of our meeting.  You are the only woman I have ever really wished to marry.  That is why I must ask you:  What are you going to do about Peter Champneys?”

“I—­I don’t know,” said she, twisting her fingers.

“Do you fancy you might be able to love him,—­later?”

“No,” said she, violently.  “No!”

“Why, then, do you not have this abominable marriage annulled?” he demanded.  “I know nothing of Champneys, except that he’s an artist,—­and, truth forces me to say, a great one.  But if he doesn’t love you, if you do not love him, do you think anything but misery is ahead for you both, if you decide to carry out the terms of that promise extorted from you?”

She shrank back in her chair.  She made no reply, and Hayden came and stood directly before her, looking down at her.

“And I—­am I nothing to you Anne?  I love you.  What of me, Anne?”

“What can I say?” said she, falteringly.  “I am not free.”

“If you were free, would you marry me?  For that is what I am asking you to do,—­free yourself, and marry me.”

She lifted her troubled eyes.  “If I were free,” she said, “if I were free—­Berkeley, give me time to consider this.  It isn’t only the annulling of my marriage to a man I had never seen until the day I married him, and have never seen since,—­it’s the breaking of my promise to Uncle Chadwick—­” They were in the library, and she looked up at the portrait above the mantel.  Hayden’s glance followed hers.