This was what Janet saw. A room comfortably furnished, largely curtained, dark, heavy stuff, so far as she could see in her instantaneous glance, covering the walls, a fire burning cheerfully, a small, shaded light by the side of a large sofa, on which lay a man fast asleep—so fast asleep that the very air seemed slumbering over him. She fell back upon her companion with what, had she dared to utter it, would have been a cry. The pale old face, long and tragical, the crown of white hair, the long white beard, half hid by the great red coverlet which enveloped him, were the same which she had seen at the window. It was, then, no fancy, no trick of reflection. Janet for a moment, in her agitation, was unconscious of all the circumstances round her. She gasped dumbly, paralyzed, yet thrilling with wonder, terror, and dismay.
Meredith’s face touched hers as he whispered “Come away.” He almost carried her through the anteroom, the dark staircase, the faintly-lighted passage, lingering at the door for a moment to see that all was quiet. They came out into the hall, anxious but safe. The crowd was still about the door of the dancing-room, but the music bore witness that the dance was just at its conclusion. Meredith hurried Janet back to the sheltered corner which they had left for this quest.
“One moment; I must speak to you for one moment more,” he whispered behind a bush of evergreens, which concealed them entirely. “You don’t know how important this is—Janet, have you got those papers——”
“The copy-book?”
“I don’t believe it was a copy-book. Try to give them to me quietly the next time I am here, or send them—that would be the safest—United Universities Club. Dearest, I can’t say half I want to say to you to-night.”
“To me there is nothing to say,” said Janet, drawing away from him. “I have forgotten myself in the excitement—but don’t think, Mr. Meredith——”
“Yes, I will think,” he said. “Don’t warn me off, for you can’t do it. I have thought of you since the first moment I saw you. Is it my fault if they take things into their heads, Janet?”
“I will not have you call me Janet,” she said, with angry vehemence.
“But I must. I never call you anything else—to myself—darling! We’ll meet again before long, and be able to say everything to each other.”
He let her go suddenly, and in a moment had joined the crowd of the lookers-on, who had been awaiting the end of the Lancers, and now were scattering to permit the exit of the more dutiful couples who had been performing that now somewhat despised dance.