She ceased to struggle. The hands that had been beating his face stole around his neck. Her lips sought his of their own accord.
"I love you!" she murmured. "I can't help myself! I love you! What will happen to me now!"
At breakfast next morning Evan was in the highest spirits. His piercing inaccurate whistling of "Mighty Lak' a Rose" got Charley out of bed a good half hour before his time. Charley looked at him rather sourly, not too well pleased to have his role of little sunshine usurped by another. A scratch decorated one of Evan's cheeks which Charley did not overlook.
"What have you been in?" he asked sarcastically.
"Cut myself shaving," replied Evan with a casual air.
"Here's a change of tune!" commented Charley. "Last night it was the Dead March from Saul."
"Come on, slug! Breakfast's on the table."
It was impossible for Charley to be ill-tempered for long. Presently he began to grin. "Pleasant walking in the Square last night?" he asked dryly.
Evan couldn't quite confide in him, but he was not unwilling that Charley should guess how matters stood. "Out-o'-sight!" he cried.
"Want to borrow some money?" said Charley carelessly. "I'm flush."
"They generally do," said Charley airily.
"I'll be paid by the old man at the end of the week."
"That's all right. Here's five, son. I can recommend the one on the Avenue just below Fourteenth."
On his way down-stairs Evan tapped on her door with beating heart. There was no answer. With a sigh he went on. Carmen, who missed little, had heard him stop and coming out, volunteered the information that Miss Playfair had gone out real early. Evan thanked her, and hurried on, dreading to face the sharp-eyed spinster.
All morning he walked the streets with Simeon Deaves in a dream. In the middle of the day he made an excuse to avoid luncheon at the Deaves' and rushed home, stopping en route to buy a small-sized cartwheel of violets.
He let himself in softly and managed to get on the stairs without attracting Carmen's attention. The violets were hidden under his coat. Corinna's door stood open now, and his heart began to beat. "Will she recognise my step?" he thought. "I would know hers on my flight."
He stood in her doorway and the heart slowly froze in his breast. The room was empty, dreadfully empty. She was gone. The empty mantel, the empty floor, the empty place where the piano had stood seemed to mock at him. He turned a little sick, and put his hand out behind him on the door frame for support. "There is some mistake," he told himself, but he knew in his heart there was no mistake. This was the natural outcome of the tormenting mystery in which Corinna enveloped herself.