She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. And at the sight something leaped within her. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. Instantly I knew that I was going to run away that night before he returned from the neighbouring island. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand.
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