He would have liked to ask for Mrs. Pasmer first, and interpose a moment of her cheerful unreality between himself and his interview with Alice, but he decided that he had better not do this, and they met at once, with the width of the room between them.  Her look was one that made it impassable to the simple impulse he usually had to take her in his arms and kiss her.  But as she stood holding out a letter to him, with the apparent intention that he should come and take it, he traversed the intervening space and took it.

“Why, it’s from mother!” he said joyously, with a glance at the handwriting.

“Will you please explain it?” said Alice, and Dan began to read it.

It began with a good many excuses for not having written before, and went on with a pretty expression of interest in Alice’s letters and gratitude for them; Mrs. Mavering assured the girl that she could not imagine what a pleasure they had been to her.  She promised herself that they should be great friends, and she said that she looked forward eagerly to the time, now drawing near, when Dan should bring her home to them.  She said she knew Alice would find it dull at the Falls except for him, but they would all do their best, and she would find the place very different from what she had seen it in the winter.  Alice could make believe that she was there just for the summer, and Mrs. Mavering hoped that before the summer was gone she would be so sorry for a sick old woman that she would not even wish to go with it.  This part of the letter, which gave Dan away so hopelessly, as he felt, was phrased so touchingly, that he looked up from it with moist eyes to the hard cold judgment in the eyes of Alice.

“Will you please explain it?” she repeated.

He tried to temporise.  “Explain what?”

Alice was prompt to say, “Had you promised your mother to take me home to live?”

Dan did not answer.

“You promised my mother to go abroad.  What else have you promised?” He continued silent, and she added, “You are a faithless man.”  They were the words of Romola, in the romance, to Tito; she had often admired them; and they seemed to her equally the measure of Dan’s offence.

“Alice—­”

“Here are your letters and remembrances, Mr. Mavering.”  Dan mechanically received the packet she had been holding behind her; with a perverse freak of intelligence he observed that, though much larger now, it was tied up with the same ribbon which had fastened it when Alice returned his letters and gifts before.  “Good-bye.  I wish you every happiness consistent with your nature.”

She bowed coldly, and was about to leave him, as she had planned; but she had not arranged that he should be standing in front of the door, and he was there, with no apparent intention of moving.

“Will you allow me to pass?” she was forced to ask, however, haughtily.

“No!” he retorted, with a violence that surprised him.  “I will not let you pass till you have listened to me—­till you tell me why you treat me so.  I won’t stand it—­I’ve had enough of this kind of thing.”