Myra was constrained into silence. She went to the window. Already the black night had given place to the grey mists of coming dawn. She looked out over the park. Uprising from the sea of shadows objects began to emerge. From the near distance the music of violins and harps throbbed to a waltz measure. She stood there unheeding while the light strengthened, and the dawn came up from the east in a glory of crimson and gold. She stood there unseeing, her heart throbbing with agony, yet with face schooled to complete apathy.
The rose and the gold faded from the sky. Another day had begun. She had forgotten Hora's presence, forgotten everything. She closed the window and lifted her hand to pull down the blinds and shut out the day. Hora's voice awakened her.
"Listen," he said, and, rising swiftly from his chair, he pushed Myra aside and threw open the casement again. The sharp sound of the bell of an electric brougham entered that window on the eighth storey just as the voice of Big Ben proclaimed four.
"Only somebody's brougham," said Myra listlessly.
"My brougham," replied Hora curtly. "Bringing Guy home."
She shrugged her shoulders. "Coming back without him, most likely," she said. Still, in spite of the remark, hope showed itself in her expression. The carriage stopped. For five minutes a strained silence endured. It was broken by the sound of an outside door opening and shutting. Another pause! Both were looking towards the door of the apartment in which Myra and Hora stood expectantly. Hora held up his finger warningly to his companion.
The door opened and there entered a young man in evening clothes, his coat was over his arm, upon which an umbrella was hooked, and his hat was in his hand.
"Hullo! I didn't expect anyone to be waiting up for me," he remarked cheerfully. "I thought that was a privilege reserved for the reprobate sons of evangelical households. I suppose you haven't been praying for the success of my undertaking."
He laughed joyously. His high spirits seemed infectious. Hora smiled responsively. Joy illuminated Myra's expressive features like sunlight on the woodlands after an April shower.
"You surely did not think that I should fail?" he asked, looking from one to another.