Eugene advanced into the room with all the assurance he could muster; he could muster a good deal, but he felt he needed it every bit, for Claudia’s aspect was not conciliatory.  She greeted him with civility, and in reply to his remark that being in the neighborhood he thought he might as well call, expressed her gratification and hinted her surprise at his remembering to do so.  She then sat down, and for ten minutes by the clock talked fluently and resolutely about an extraordinary variety of totally uninteresting things.  Eugene used this breathing-space to recover himself.  He said nothing, or next to nothing, but waited patiently for Claudia to run down.  She struggled desperately against exhaustion; but at last she could not avoid a pause.  Eugene’s generalship had foreseen that this opening was inevitable.  Like Fabius he waited, and like Fabius he struck.

“I have been so completely out of the world—­out of my own world—­for the last month that I know nothing.  Didn’t even have my letters sent on.”

“Fancy!” said Lady Claudia.

“I wish I had now.”

Claudia was meant to say “Why?” She didn’t, so he had to make the connection for himself.

“I found one letter waiting for me that was most important.”

“Yes?” said Claudia, with polite but obviously fatigued interest.

“It was from Miss Bernard.”

“Fancy not having her letters sent on!”

“You know what was in that letter, Lady Claudia?”

“Oh, yes; Rickmansworth told me.  I don’t know if he ought to have.  I am so very sorry, Mr. Lane.”

“From not getting the letter, I didn’t know for a month that I was free.  I needn’t shrink from calling it freedom.”

“As you were in America, it couldn’t make much difference whether you knew or not.”

“I want you to know that I didn’t know.”

“Really you are very kind.”

“I was afraid you would think—­”

“Pray, what?” asked Claudia, in suspiciously calm tones.

Eugene was conscious he was not putting it in the happiest possible way; however, there was nothing for it but to go on now.

“Why, that—­why, Claudia, that I shouldn’t rush to you the moment I was free.”

Claudia was sitting on a sofa, and as he said this Eugene came up and leant his hands on the back of it.  He thought he had done it rather well at last.  To his astonishment, she leapt up.

“This is too much!” she cried.

“Why, what?” exclaimed poor Eugene.

“To come and tell me to my face that you’re afraid I’ve been crying for you for a month past!”

“Of course I don’t mean—­”

“Do I look very ill and worn?” demanded Claudia, with elaborate sarcasm.  “Have I faded away?  Make your mind easy, Mr. Lane.  You will not have another girl’s death at your door.”

Eugene so far forgot himself as to stare at the ceiling and exclaim,
“Good God!”