Page 836 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

far across the lawn. In an extraordinarily short time-for
the distance was considerable-he had moved through the
darkness (for she saw nothing) and reached the door. Here
only she paused. She looked all about her; she listened a lit-
tle; then she put her hand on the latch. She had not known
where to turn; but she knew now. There was a very straight
path.
Two days afterwards Caspar Goodwood knocked at
the door of the house in Wimpole Street in which Henri-
etta Stackpole occupied furnished lodgings. He had hardly
removed his hand from the knocker when the door was
opened and Miss Stackpole herself stood before him. She
had on her hat and jacket; she was on the point of going out.
‘Oh, good-morning,’ he said, ‘I was in hopes I should find
Mrs. Osmond.’
Henrietta kept him waiting a moment for her reply; but
there was a good deal of expression about Miss Stackpole
even when she was silent. ‘Pray what led you to suppose she
was here?’
‘I went down to Gardencourt this morning, and the ser-
vant told me she had come to London. He believed she was
to come to you.’
Again Miss Stackpole held him-with an intention of per-
fect kindness-in suspense. ‘She came here yesterday, and
spent the night. But this morning she started for Rome.’
Caspar Goodwood was not looking at her; his eyes were
fastened on the doorstep. ‘Oh, she started-?’ he stammered.
And without finishing his phrase or looking up he stiffly
averted himself. But he couldn’t otherwise move.

836 The Portrait of a Lady