He was still doubtful as he went down. She
had said little, and he had wished to hear so much.
He took out his cigarette case as he went along,
and determined to wait a little while in the smok-
ing room before he went in search of her, though
, 8



86 TRINITY SKETCHES.
he realized his time was short. Perhaps he would
not seek her at all ; it was hard to say what he
would do.
He was half way down stairs before he noticed
there was someone sitting a few steps below him,
a tall, slender figure in white and lavender, a sin-
gle white rose in the masses of her hair fastened
by a silver dagger. He paused and rolled his cig-
arette mechanically between his fingers, then set
his teeth and went on. He had determined to
make no advances whatever, and stepped past her
without a word, as if, in fact, he had not seen her
sitting there.
When he reached the door of the smoking
room, he looked back. A desire to see how she
looked, to see if she had noticed who it was that
had passed her, possessed him ; it was an impulse
that flashed upon him and gave him no time to
decide wisely or calmly. Had the affair turned
other than it did, he would have condemned him-
self, but it was well. With so frail a rod does fate
turn us to happiness, or drive us to misery. At any
rate, he looked as if for someone coming down the
stairs behind her — such actors are we in our poor,
selfish comedy — as if it were a stranger sitting
on the stair.
