Even if I'd intended to go in, I wouldn't have
gone while they were there. But the very fact that they _were_ there
roused me out of the kind of lethargy of misery I'd fallen into. I
wondered who they were, and if they meant you harm or good. When they
had driven away I made up my mind that I would see you if I could. I
tried the gate, and found it unlocked. I walked in, and--there were
lights in these windows. I knew you couldn't have gone to bed yet,
though you'd said you were so tired. There was death in my heart then,
for you and for me, Maxine, for--the gate hadn't opened again, and--"
"I know what you thought!" I broke in, my heart beating so now that my
voice shook a little, though I struggled to seem calm. "You said to
yourself, 'It was Maxine who let the man in. He is with her now. I shall
find them together.'"
"Yes," Raoul admitted. "But I didn't try the handle of the door, as I
had of the gate. I rang. I couldn't bring myself to take you unawares."
"Do you think still that I let a man in, and hid him when I heard you
ring?" I asked. (For an instant I was inclined to tell the story Ivor
had advised me to tell; but I saw how excited Raoul was; I saw how, in
painting the picture for me, he lived through the scene again, and, in
spite of himself, suffered almost as keenly as he had suffered in the
experience.
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