With a shiver he turned away.  Such imaginings were not good for a man, nor the place that bred them.  He took the shortest cut that led out of the Park and back to the streets, where he found lights and people, and his thoughts, sensitive to the atmosphere round him, took a brighter hue.  Why should he trouble himself with what he would do if he were deceived in Claudia?  He knew her too well to doubt her.  He had pushed aside all obstacles to seek her, and she would fly to meet him; and he smiled at himself for conjuring up fantasies of impossible misfortune, only to enjoy the solace of laying them again with the sweet confidence of love.  He passed the evening in the contemplation of his happiness, awaiting Eugene’s reply to his note with impatience, but without disquiet.

This same letter was, however, the cause of very serious disquiet to the recipient, more especially as it came upon the top of another troublesome occurrence.  Rickmansworth had welcomed Eugene to Territon Park with his usual good nature and his usual absence of effusion.  In fact, he telegraphed that Eugene could come if he liked, but he, Rickmansworth, thought he’d find it beastly slow.  Eugene went, but found, to his dismay, that Claudia was not there.  Some mystery hung over her non-appearance; but he learned from Bob that her departure had been quite impromptu,—­decided upon, in fact, after his telegram was received,—­and that she was staying some five miles off, at the Dower House, with her aunt, Lady Julia, who occupied that residence.

Eugene was much annoyed and rather uneasy.

“It looks as if she didn’t want to see me,” he said to Bob.

“It does, almost,” replied Bob cheerfully.  “Perhaps she don’t.”

“Well, I’ll go over and call to-morrow.”

“You can if you like. I should let her alone.”

Very likely Bob’s words were the words of wisdom, but when did a lover—­even a tolerably cool-headed lover like Eugene—­ever listen to the words of wisdom?  He went to bed in a bad temper.  Then in the morning came Stafford’s letter, and of course Eugene had no kind of doubt as to the meaning of it.  Now, it had been all very well to be magnanimous and propose to give his friend a chance when he thought the pear was only waiting to drop into his hand; magnanimity appeared at once safe and desirable, and there was no strong motive to counteract Eugene’s love for Stafford.  Matters were rather different when it appeared that the pear was not waiting to drop—­when, on the contrary, the pear had pointedly removed itself from the hand of the plucker, and seemed, if one may vary the metaphor, to have turned into a prickly pear.  Eugene still believed that Claudia loved him; but he saw that she was stung by his apparent neglect, and perhaps still more by the idea that in his view he had only to ask at any time in order to have.  When ladies gather that impression, they think it due to their self-respect