Now the house was as dark as the grave, except for a faint flare of gas in the basement, and a light in one upstairs room where the blind had not been lowered.  As Archer reached the corner he saw that the carriage standing at the door was Mrs. Manson Mingott’s.  What an opportunity for Sillerton Jackson, if he should chance to pass!  Archer had been greatly moved by old Catherine’s account of Madame Olenska’s attitude toward Mrs. Beaufort; it made the righteous reprobation of New York seem like a passing by on the other side.  But he knew well enough what construction the clubs and drawing-rooms would put on Ellen Olenska’s visits to her cousin.

He paused and looked up at the lighted window.  No doubt the two women were sitting together in that room:  Beaufort had probably sought consolation elsewhere.  There were even rumours that he had left New York with Fanny Ring; but Mrs. Beaufort’s attitude made the report seem improbable.

Archer had the nocturnal perspective of Fifth Avenue almost to himself.  At that hour most people were indoors, dressing for dinner; and he was secretly glad that Ellen’s exit was likely to be unobserved.  As the thought passed through his mind the door opened, and she came out.  Behind her was a faint light, such as might have been carried down the stairs to show her the way.  She turned to say a word to some one; then the door closed, and she came down the steps.

“Ellen,” he said in a low voice, as she reached the pavement.

She stopped with a slight start, and just then he saw two young men of fashionable cut approaching.  There was a familiar air about their overcoats and the way their smart silk mufflers were folded over their white ties; and he wondered how youths of their quality happened to be dining out so early.  Then he remembered that the Reggie Chiverses, whose house was a few doors above, were taking a large party that evening to see Adelaide Neilson in Romeo and Juliet, and guessed that the two were of the number.  They passed under a lamp, and he recognised Lawrence Lefferts and a young Chivers.

A mean desire not to have Madame Olenska seen at the Beauforts’ door vanished as he felt the penetrating warmth of her hand.

“I shall see you now—­we shall be together,” he broke out, hardly knowing what he said.

“Ah,” she answered, “Granny has told you?”

While he watched her he was aware that Lefferts and Chivers, on reaching the farther side of the street corner, had discreetly struck away across Fifth Avenue.  It was the kind of masculine solidarity that he himself often practised; now he sickened at their connivance.  Did she really imagine that he and she could live like this?  And if not, what else did she imagine?

“Tomorrow I must see you—­somewhere where we can be alone,” he said, in a voice that sounded almost angry to his own ears.

She wavered, and moved toward the carriage.