The minutes dragged by. No roll of wheels echoed under the carriage porch; no step sounded at the outer door. The house was still, the street without was still, the silence of the midsummer evening widened, unbroken around her, like a vast calm pool. Only the musical Gregorians of the newsboys chanting the evening’s extras from corner to corner of the streets rose into the air from time to time. She was once more alone. Was she to fail again? Was she to be set aside once more, as so often heretofore⁠—set aside, flouted, ignored, forgotten? “If you love me,” she had said.

And this was to be the supreme test. This evening was to decide which was the great influence of his life⁠—was to prove whether or not love was paramount. This was the crucial hour. “And he knows it,” cried Laura. “He knows it. He did not forget, could not have forgotten.”

The half hour passed, then the hour, and as eight o’clock chimed from the clock over the mantelshelf Laura stopped, suddenly rigid, in the midst of the floor.