When, at last, Ambrose was announced, Campaspe said quietly, Come, and Gunnar rose and followed her.
She whispered a direction to the chauffeur before she settled back into her seat. As Ambrose started the car, she peered at Gunnar. His face, still preserving somehow that inexplicable effulgent aureole which seemed mystically to illuminate his countenance, wore, she thought, the most utterly despondent expression she had ever observed on human features. And quite suddenly, she began to breathe naturally again, aware that by some magic accident she was released, free once more, at any rate her own, and no one else's, able to deal with the situation, with any situation, able again to lead her own special, personal life. On and on they drove in the closed car, Ambrose directing it straight ahead towards their mysterious destination. Now and again, she patted Gunnar's hand, but still no word was spoken. Presently, the purple clouds burst and whips of rain lashed the windows. At last, on a side street off Riverside Drive, the automobile drew up before a frame house of modest size, set back some distance on a broad lawn. Ambrose raised an umbrella to protect the pair from the downpour as he escorted them through the gate up the walk to the house. On the porch, Campaspe inserted a key in the lock, opened the door, and led Gunnar into a dark hallway. Pressing a button she caused a red globe, which depended on a chain from
