He was obliged to look up at her as he rose.  Mrs. Horncastle was sitting erect, beautiful and dazzling as even he had never seen her before.  For his resolution had suddenly lifted a great weight from her shoulders,—­the dangerous meeting of husband and wife the next morning, and its results, whatever they might be, had been quietly averted.  She felt, too, a half-frightened joy even in the constrained manner in which he had imparted his determination.  That frankness which even she had sometimes found so crushing was gone.

“I really think you are quite right,” she said, rising also, “and, besides, you see, it will give me a chance to talk to her as you wished.”

“To talk to her as I wished?” echoed Barker abstractedly.

“Yes, about Van Loo, you know,” said Mrs. Horncastle, smiling.

“Oh, certainly—­about Van Loo, of course,” he returned hurriedly.

“And then,” said Mrs. Horncastle brightly, “I’ll tell her.  Stay!” she interrupted herself hurriedly.  “Why need I say anything about your having been here at all?  It might only annoy her, as you yourself suggest.”  She stopped breathlessly with parted lips.

“Why, indeed?” said Barker vaguely.  Yet all this was so unlike his usual truthfulness that he slightly hesitated.

“Besides,” continued Mrs. Horncastle, noticing it, “you know you can always tell her later, if necessary.”  And she added with a charming mischievousness, “As she didn’t tell you she was coming, I really don’t see why you are bound to tell her that you were here.”

The sophistry pleased Barker, even though it put him into a certain retaliating attitude towards his wife which he was not aware of feeling.  But, as Mrs. Horncastle put it, it was only a playful attitude.

“Certainly,” he said.  “Don’t say anything about it.”

He moved to the door with his soft, broad-brimmed hat swinging between his fingers.  She noticed for the first time that he looked taller in his long black serape and riding-boots, and, oddly enough, much more like the hero of an amorous tryst than Van Loo.  “I know,” she said brightly, “you are eager to get back to your old friend, and it would be selfish for me to try to keep you longer.  You have had a stupid evening, but you have made it pleasant to me by telling me what you thought of me.  And before you go I want you to believe that I shall try to keep that good opinion.”  She spoke frankly in contrast to the slight worldly constraint of Barker’s manner; it seemed as if they had changed characters.  And then she extended her hand.

With a low bow, and without looking up, he took it.  Again their pulses seemed to leap together with one accord and the same mysterious understanding.  He could not tell if he had unconsciously pressed her hand or if she had returned the pressure.  But when their hands unclasped it seemed as if it were the division of one flesh and spirit.