It happened in this wise: 

On the day when Hawbury called, Ethel happened to be sitting by the window, and saw him as he rode up.  Now the last time that she had seen him he had a very different appearance—­all his hair being burned off, from head and cheeks and chin; and the whiskers which he had when she first met him had been of a different cut from the present appendages.  In spite of this she recognized him almost in a moment; and her heart beat fast, and her color came and went, and her hands clutched the window ledge convulsively.

[Illustration:  “‘IT’S HE!’ SHE MURMURED.”]

“It’s he!” she murmured.

Of course there was only one idea in her mind, and that was that he had heard of her presence in Naples, and had come to call on her.

She sat there without motion, with her head eagerly bent forward, and her eyes fixed upon him.  He looked up carelessly as he came along, and with his chin in the air, in a fashion peculiar to him, which, by-the-way, gave a quite unintentional superciliousness to his expression.  For an instant his eyes rested upon her, then they moved away, without the slightest recognition, and wandered elsewhere.

Ethel’s heart seemed turned to stone.  He had seen her.  He had not noticed her.  He had fixed his eyes on her and then looked away.  Bitter, indeed, was all this to her.  To think that after so long a period of waiting—­after such hope and watching as hers had been—­that this should be the end.  She turned away from the window, with a choking sensation in her throat.  No one was in the room.  She was alone with her thoughts and her tears.

Suddenly her mood changed.  A thought came to her which dispelled her gloom.  The glance that he had given was too hasty; perhaps he really had not fairly looked at her.  No doubt he had come for her, and she would shortly be summoned down.

And now this prospect brought new hope.  Light returned to her eyes, and joy to her heart.  Yes, she would be summoned.  She must prepare herself to encounter his eager gaze.  Quickly she stepped to the mirror, hastily she arranged those little details in which consists the charm of a lady’s dress, and severely she scrutinized the face and figure reflected there.  The scrutiny was a satisfactory one.  Face and figure were perfect; nor was there in the world any thing more graceful and more lovely than the image there, though the one who looked upon it was far too self-distrustful to entertain any such idea as that.

Then she seated herself and waited.  The time moved slowly, indeed, as she waited there.  After a few minutes she found it impossible to sit any longer.  She walked to the door, held it open, and listened.  She heard his voice below quite plainly.  They had two suits of rooms in the house—­the bedrooms up stairs and reception-rooms below.  Here Lord Hawbury was, now, within hearing of Ethel.  Well she knew that voice.  She listened and frowned.  The tone was too flippant.  He talked like a man without a care—­like a butterfly of society—­and and that was a class which she scorned.  Here he was, keeping her waiting.  Here he was, keeping up a hateful clatter of small-talk, while her heart was aching with suspense.