At the top of the third flight she paused for breath, and holding on to
the bannisters, stood listening. No sound came from above.
With a very white face she mounted the last flight. She saw the door,
with his name on the plate. And the resolution that had brought her so
far evaporated.
The full meaning of her conduct came to her. She felt hot all over;
the palms of her hands were moist beneath the thin silk covering of her
gloves.
She drew back to the stairs, but did not descend. Leaning against the
rail she tried to get rid of a feeling of being choked; and she gazed
at the door with a sort of dreadful courage. No! she refused to go down.
Did it matter what people thought of her? They would never know! No one
would help her if she did not help herself! She would go through with
it.
Forcing herself, therefore, to leave the support of the wall, she rang
the bell. The door did not open, and all her shame and fear suddenly
abandoned her; she rang again and again, as though in spite of its
emptiness she could drag some response out of that closed room, some
recompense for the shame and fear that visit had cost her. It did not
open; she left off ringing, and, sitting down at the top of the stairs,
buried her face in her hands.
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