Finally he came upon the hall-way he sought.  Passing along, he found the doors bearing the numbers he had memorized so well.  They were quite close together, and there was nothing to help him guess which belonged to the parlor.  He hesitated, gazing wistfully from one to the other.  In the instant of indecision, even while his alert ear caught the sound of feet coming along toward the passage in which he stood, a thought came to quicken his resolve.  It became apparent to him that his discovery gave him a certain new measure of freedom with Celia, a sort of right to take things more for granted than heretofore.  He chose a door at random, and rapped distinctly on the panel.

“Come!”

The voice he knew for Celia’s.  The single word, however, recalled the usage of Father Forbes, which he had noted more than once at the pastorate, when Maggie had knocked.

He straightened his shoulders, took his hat off, and pushed open the door.  It was the parlor—­a room of sofas, pianos, big easy-chairs, and luxurious bric-a-brac.  A tall woman was walking up and down in it, with bowed head.  Her back was at the moment toward him; and he looked at her, saying to himself that this was the lady of his dreams, the enchantress of the kiss, the woman who loved him—­but somehow it did not seem to his senses to be Celia.

She turned, and moved a step or two in his direction before she mechanically lifted her eyes and saw who was standing in her doorway.  She stopped short, and regarded him.  Her face was in the shadow, and he could make out nothing of its expression, save that there was a general effect of gravity about it.

“I cannot receive you,” she said.  “You must go away.  You have no business to come like this without sending up your card.”

Theron smiled at her.  The notion of taking in earnest her inhospitable words did not at all occur to him.  He could see now that her face had vexed and saddened lines upon it, and the sharpness of her tone remained in his ears.  But he smiled again gently, to reassure her.

“I ought to have sent up my name, I know,” he said, “but I couldn’t bear to wait.  I just saw your name on the register and—­you will forgive me, won’t you?—­I ran to you at once.  I know you won’t have the heart to send me away!”

She stood where she had halted, her arms behind her, looking him fixedly in the face.  He had made a movement to advance, and offer his hand in greeting, but her posture checked the impulse.  His courage began to falter under her inspection.

“Must I really go down again?” he pleaded.  “It’s a crushing penalty to suffer for such little indiscretion.  I was so excited to find you were here—­I never stopped to think.  Don’t send me away; please don’t!”

Celia raised her head.  “Well, shut the door, then,” she said, “since you are so anxious to stay.  You would have done much better, though, very much better indeed, to have taken the hint and gone away.”