Reaching the ground, he paused for a moment and raised his hat; then, without a second glance, he turned and walked rapidly away.

Lillian sat watching him meditatively.  She saw him pass through the gateway, saw him hail a hansom, then she remembered the waiting chauffeur.

XXI

On the same day that Chilcote had parted with Lillian—­but at three o’clock in the afternoon—­Loder, dressed in Chilcote’s clothes and with Chilcote’s heavy overcoat slung over his arm, walked from Fleet Street to Grosvenor Square.  He walked steadily, neither slowly nor yet fast.  The elation of his last journey over the same ground was tempered by feelings he could not satisfactorily bracket even to himself.  There was less of vehement elation and more of matured determination in his gait and bearing than there had been on that night, though the incidents of which they were the outcome were very complex.

On reaching Chilcote’s house he passed up-stairs; but, still following the routine of his previous return, he did not halt at Chilcote’s door, but moved onward towards Eve’s sitting-room and there paused.

In that pause his numberless irregular thoughts fused into one.

He had the same undefined sense of standing upon sacred ground that had touched him on the previous occasion, but the outcome of the sensation was different.  This time he raised his hand almost immediately and tapped on the door.

He waited, but no voice responded to his knock.  With a sense of disappointment he knocked again; then, pressing his determination still further, he turned the handle and entered the room.

No private room is without meaning—­whether trivial or the reverse.  In a room, perhaps more even than in speech, in look, or in work, does the impress of the individual make itself felt.  There, on the wax of outer things, the inner self imprints its seal-enforces its fleeting claim to separate individuality.  This thought, with its arresting interest, made Loder walk slowly, almost seriously, half-way across the room and then pause to study his surroundings.

The room was of medium size—­not too large for comfort and not too small for ample space.  At a first impression it struck him as unlike any anticipation of a woman’s sanctum.  The walls panelled in dark wood; the richly bound books; the beautifully designed bronze ornaments; even the flowers, deep crimson and violet-blue in tone, had an air of sombre harmony that was scarcely feminine.  With a strangely pleasant impression he realized this, and, following his habitual impulse, moved slowly forward towards the fireplace and there paused, his elbow resting on the mantel-piece.

He had scarcely settled comfortably into his position, scarcely entered on his second and more comprehensive study of the place, than the arrangement of his mind was altered by the turning of the handle and the opening of the door.