He remembered with a shock of disillusion and disgust that it was a common device of silly but innocent assignation.
Was he to be the ridiculous accomplice of a schoolgirl's extravagant escapade, or the deluded victim of some infamous plot of her infamous companion?
He could not believe either; yet he could not check a certain revulsion of feeling towards her, which only a moment ago he would have believed impossible.
Yet whatever was her purpose, he must prevent her coming there at any hazard.

Her visit would be the culmination of her folly, or the success of any plot.

Even while he was fully conscious of the material effect of any scandal and exposure to her, even while he was incensed and disillusionized at her unexpected audacity, he was unusually stirred with the conviction that she was wronging herself, and that more than ever she demanded his help and his consideration.

Still she must not come.

But how was he to prevent her?
It wanted but an hour of dusk.