"Haru!" But the flying figure did not seem to hear the call.
Barbara ran quickly after her along the gravel path.
In the house, Austen Ware, standing with the kimono in his hand, had heard the rumble of carriage wheels. He had left the outer shoji open, and through the aperture he saw the slim form hastening toward the doorway. An exclamation broke from his lips. Behind her, just entering the gate, was Barbara!
For a breath he stared. A cool, thriving suspicion—one bred of his anger and humiliation, that shamed his manhood—ran through him. Barbara, there? Was it another rendezvous, then? The fierce, self-dishonoring doubt merged into the mad jealousy that already burned him like a brand.
He dropped the kimono, drew back the shikiri of the unused apartment, and stepped inside.
Swiftly and noiselessly the light partition slipped into place behind him.