She flung her dressing-gown round her, tapped lightly at his door, and whispered 'Stephen!' He came instantly, opened the door, and stepped out.
'Tell me; are we to hope ?' He replied in a disturbed whisper, and a tear approached its outlet, though none fell.
'I am not to think of such a preposterous thing--that's what he said.
And I am going to-morrow.

I should have called you up to bid you good-bye.' 'But he didn't say you were to go--O Stephen, he didn't say that ?' 'No; not in words.

But I cannot stay.' 'Oh, don't, don't go! Do come and let us talk.

Let us come down to the drawing-room for a few minutes; he will hear us here.' She preceded him down the staircase with the taper light in her hand, looking unnaturally tall and thin in the long dove-coloured dressing-gown she wore.

She did not stop to think of the propriety or otherwise of this midnight interview under such circumstances.