She turned on the seat to face him squarely, and caught something of the dismay in his glance of the loathing almost (for what is more loathsome to a man than to be wooed by a woman he desires not ?) Gradually, inch by inch, she drew away from him, ever facing him, and her eyes ever on his, as if fascinated by the horror of what she saw.

Thus until the extremity of the settle permitted her to go no farther.

She started, then her glance flickered down, and she gave a sudden gasp of passion.

Simultaneously the key rang on the boards at Caron's feet angrily flung there by Cecile.
"Go!" she exclaimed, in a suffocating voice, "and never let me see your face again." For a second or two he sat quite still, his eyes observing her with a look of ineffable pity, which might have increased her disorder had she perceived it.

Then slowly he stooped, and took up the key.
He rose from the settle, and without a word--for words he realised, could do no more than heighten the tragic banality of the situation--he went to the door, unlocked it, and passed out.
Huddled in her corner sat Cecile, listening until his steps had died away on the stairs.