He was glad to find himself amongst them and
of them. He felt that he had come down from the chilly heights to walk
the lighted highways of the world. The keen air with its touch of frost
invigorated him. There was a new suppleness in his pulses, a queer
excitement in his whole being, which he scarcely understood until his
long walk came to an end and he found himself at a standstill in front
of the house in Charles Street, his unadmitted destination.
He glanced at his watch and found that it was half an hour after
midnight. There was a light in the lower room into which Jane had taken
him on the night of her arrival in town. Above, the whole of the house
seemed in darkness. He walked a little way down the street and back
again. Jane was dining, he knew, with the Princess de Fenaples, her
godmother, and had spoken of going on to a ball with her afterwards. In
that case she could scarcely be home for hours. Yet somehow he had a
joyful conviction that history would repeat itself, that he would find
her, as he had once before, entering the house. His fortune was in the
ascendant.
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