While daylight lasted, the artist painted desperately hard, and after dark wandered round the lanes and roads and across the fields, haunting almost unconsciously the Manor Park, if only to see in moonlight and twilight the casket which held the rich jewel he had lost.

This was foolish, and Lambert acknowledged that it was foolish, but at the same time he added inwardly that he was a man and not an angel, a sinner and not a saint, so that there were limits, etc., etc., etc., using impossible arguments to quieten a lively conscience that did not approve of this dangerous philandering.
The visit of Miss Greeby awoke him positively to a sense of danger, for if she talked--and talk she did--other people would talk also.

Lambert asked himself if it would be better to visit The Manor and behave like a man who has got over his passion, or to leave the cottage and betake himself to London.

While turning over this problem in his mind, he painted feverishly, and for three days after Miss Greeby had come to stir up muddy water, he remained as much as possible in his studio.
Chaldea visited him, as usual, to be painted, and brought Kara with his green coat and beloved violin and hairy looks.

The girl chatted, Kara played, and Lambert painted, and all three pretended to be very happy and careless.