It looked so different, bare and shorn, under the
light grey sky; the willows were all polled, the reeds cut down. And a
line from one of his favourite sonnets came into her mind:
"Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang."
Ah, well! Time enough to face things when they came. She would only
think of seeing him! And she put the letter back to burn what hole it
liked in the pocket of her fur coat.
The train was late; it was past five, already growing dark, when she
reached Paddington and took a cab to the Temple. Strange to be going
there for the first time--not even to know exactly where Harcourt
Buildings were. At Temple Lane, she stopped the cab and walked down that
narrow, ill-lighted, busy channel into the heart of the Great Law.
"Up those stone steps, miss; along the railin', second doorway." Gyp
came to the second doorway and in the doubtful light scrutinized the
names. "Summerhay--second floor." She began to climb the stairs. Her
heart beat fast. What would he say? How greet her? Was it not absurd,
dangerous, to have come? He would be having a consultation perhaps.
There would be a clerk or someone to beard, and what name could
she give? On the first floor she paused, took out a blank card, and
pencilled on it:
"Can I see you a minute?--G."
Then, taking a long breath to quiet her heart, she went on up.
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