She nodded a careless good-bye, and at once left the house.  She went straight home.  Mr. Dalmaine was absent at luncheon-time; Paula ate nothing and talked fretfully to the servant about the provision that was made for her—­though she never took the least trouble to see that her domestic concerns went properly.  She idled about the drawing-room till three o’clock.  A visitor came; her instructions were:  ‘Not at home.’  At half-past three she ordered a hansom to be summoned, instead of her own carriage, and, having dressed with nervous rapidity, she ran downstairs and entered the vehicle.  ’Drive to the British Museum,’ she spoke up to the cabman through the trap.

But just as the horse was starting, it stopped again.  Looking about her in annoyance, she found that her husband had bidden the driver pull up, and that he was standing by the wheel.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked, smilingly.

’To see a friend.  Why do you stop me when I’m in a hurry?  Tell him to drive on at once.’

She was obeyed, and, as the vehicle rolled on, she leaned back, suffering a little from palpitation.  It was a long drive to Great Russell Street, and once or twice she all but altered her direction to the man.  However, she was on the pavement by the Museum gates at last.  When the cab had driven away, she crossed the street.  She went to the house where Egremont had his rooms.

‘Yes, Mr. Egremont was at home.’

‘Then please to give him this card, and ask if he is at liberty.’

She was guided up to the first floor; she entered a room, and found Egremont standing in the midst of packing-cases.  He affected to be in no way surprised at the visit, and shook hands naturally.

‘You find me in a state of disorder, Mrs. Dalmaine,’ he said.  ’Pray excuse it; I start on a long journey to-morrow morning.’

Paula murmured phrases.  She was hot, and wished in her heart that she had not done this crazy thing; really she could not quite say why she had done it.

‘So you’re going to America again, Mr. Egremont?’

‘Yes.’

’I heard so.  I knew you wouldn’t come to say good-bye to me, so I came to you.’

She was looking about for signs of female occupation; none whatever were discoverable.

‘You are kind.’

‘I won’t stay, of course.  You are very busy—­’

‘I hope you will let me give you a cup of tea?’

’Oh no, thank you.  It was only just to speak a word—­and to ask you to forget some very bad behaviour of mine.  You know what I mean, of course.  I was ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t help it.  I’m so glad I came just in time to see you; I should have been awfully vexed if I—­if I couldn’t have asked you to forgive me.’

’I have nothing whatever to forgive, but I think it very kind of you to have come.’

‘You’ll come back again—­some day?’

‘Very likely, I think.’