Alwynne fled down Friar's Lane in amazement, conscious only of the need of escape. She had heard the outer door of the flat close behind her, yet she felt herself pursued. Clare's voice rang in her ears. Momently she awaited the touch of Clare's hand upon her shoulder. She felt herself exhausted; knew that, once overtaken, she would be powerless to resist; that she would be led back; would submit to reconciliation and caresses. And yet she was sure that she would never willingly see Clare again. She was free, and her terror of recapture taught her what liberty meant to her. There was the whole world before her, and Elsbeth—and Roger.... She must find Roger.... She was capable of no clear thought, but very sure that with him was safety.

She hurried along in the shadow of the overhanging lilac-hedge, ears a-prick, eyes glancing to right and left. Oblivious of probabilities she saw Clare in every passer-by. At the turn of the blind lane she ran into a woman, walking towards her. She bit back a cry.

But it was only Elsbeth—Elsbeth in her Sunday gown, very determined, gripping her card-case as if it were a dagger. She spoke between relief and distress.

"Alwynne! Why did you disappear? Where have you been?"

"With Clare."

"It was more than rude. You could surely have foregone one afternoon. No one to see Roger off! After all his kindness to you at Dene!"

"See Roger off?"

Elsbeth was pleased to see her concern.

"I should have gone myself, of course, but he would not allow it. The heat—as I have to pay a call. So he saw me on my way and then went off by himself, poor Roger!"

"Where is he going? Why is he going?"

"Back to Dene. The four-five. I am afraid, Alwynne, he has been hurt and upset. Alwynne!"

But Alwynne, tugging at her watch-chain, was already running down the road with undignified speed. The four-five! Another ten minutes ... no, nine and a half.... Cutting through the gardens she might do it yet.... She prayed for her watch to be fast—the train late. She ran steadily, doggedly, oblivious of the passers-by, oblivious of heat and dust and choking breathlessness, of everything but the idea that Roger was deserting her.

As she bent round the sweep of the station yard past the shelter with its nodding cabmen, and ran down the little wall-flower-bordered asphalt path, she heard the engine's valedictory puff. The platform was noisy and crowded, alive with shouting porters, crates of poultry and burdened women, but at the upper end was Roger, his foot on the step of the carriage, obviously bribing a guard.

She pushed past the outraged ticket collector, and darted up the platform.

Roger had disappeared when she reached the door of his compartment, and the whistle had sounded, but the door was still a-swing. The train began to move as she scrambled in. The door banged upon their privacy.

"Roger!" cried Alwynne. "Roger!"

She was shaking with breathlessness and relief.

"You were right. I was wrong. It's you I want. I will do everything you want, always. I've been simply miserable. Oh, Roger—be good to me."

And for the rest of his life Roger was good to her.