away from him once more, and to this loss he could not reconcile himself.  Yet he was further than ever from the thought of giving himself wholly to her, for the intenser his feeling grew, the more clearly he recognised its character.  This was not love he suffered from, but mere desire.  To let it have its way would be to degrade Ida.  Love might or might not follow, and how could he place her at the mercy of such a chance as that?  Her faith and trust in him were absolute; could he take advantage of it for his own ends?  And, for all these fine arguments, Waymark saw with perfect clearness how the matter would end.  Self would triumph, and Ida, if the fates so willed it, would be sacrificed.  It was detestable, but a fact; as good already as an accomplished fact.

And on the following morning Ida’s note reached him.  It was final.  Her entreaty that he would merely send money had no weight with him for a moment; he felt that there was a contradiction between her words and her wishes.  This note explained the strangeness he had noticed in her on their last evening together.  He pitied her, and, as is so often the case, pity was but fuel to passion.  He swept from his mind all obstinate debatings.  Passion should be a law unto itself.  Let the future bring things about as it would.

He had risen late, and by the time he had finished a hasty breakfast it was eleven o’clock.  Half an hour after he went up the stairs of the lodging-house and knocked at the familiar door.

But his knock met with no answer.  Ida herself had left home an hour before.  Upon waking, and recalling what she had done, she foresaw that Waymark would himself come, in spite of her request.  She could not face him.  For all that her exhaustion was so great that walking was slow and weary, she went out and strayed at first with no aim; but presently she took the direction of Chelsea, and so came to Beaufort Street.  She would go in and see Harriet, who would give her something to eat.  She cared little now for letting it be known that she had left her employment; with the step which she had at last taken, her position was quite changed; she had only kept silence lest Waymark should come to know.  Harriet was at first surprised to see her then seemed glad.

“I’ve only a minute ago sent a note, asking you to be sure to come round to-night.  I wanted you to help me with this new hat; you have such good taste in trimming.”

Ida would have been astonished at another time; for Harriet to be paying compliments was indeed something novel.  There was a flush on the latter’s usually sallow face; she did not sit down, and kept moving aimlessly about.

“Give me your hat and jacket,” she said, “and let me take them into the other room.”