One evening, as Paul and she were walking along Woodborough Road, they met Dawes.

Morel knew something about the bearing of the man approaching, but he was absorbed in his thinking at the moment, so that only his artist's eye watched the form of the stranger.

Then he suddenly turned to Clara with a laugh, and put his hand on her shoulder, saying, laughing: "But we walk side by side, and yet I'm in London arguing with an imaginary Orpen; and where are you ?" At that instant Dawes passed, almost touching Morel.

The young man glanced, saw the dark brown eyes burning, full of hate and yet tired.
"Who was that ?" he asked of Clara.
"It was Baxter," she replied.
Paul took his hand from her shoulder and glanced round; then he saw again distinctly the man's form as it approached him.

Dawes still walked erect, with his fine shoulders flung back, and his face lifted; but there was a furtive look in his eyes that gave one the impression he was trying to get unnoticed past every person he met, glancing suspiciously to see what they thought of him.