he wished she had not undertaken the journey. It occurred to her
that perhaps she had made a humiliating mistake when she thought that
the brown man wished, and intended, her to go to Paris because he was
going. Her pride was alarmed. She saw plainly for a moment the mud into
which vanity had led her, and she longed to get out of the train and
to remain in London. But how could she account to her maid for such a
sudden change of plans? What could she say to her household? She
knew, of course, that she owed them no explanation. But still--and her
friends? She had told everybody that she was going to Paris. They would
think her crazy for giving up the journey after she was actually in the
train. And she had seen two or three acquaintances on the platform. No;
she must make the journey now. It was too late to give it up. But she
wished intensely she had not undertaken it.

At the moment of this wish of hers, coming from the Pullman, the brown
man walked slowly by on the platform, alone. His eyes were searching the
train with keen attention. But Lady Sellingworth happened to be leaning
back, and he did not see her. She knew he was looking for her. He went
on out of her sight. She sat still in her corner, and presently saw
him coming back. This time he saw her, and did something which for
the moment startled her. On the window of the carriage, next the seat
opposite to hers, was pasted a label with "Reserved" printed on it in
big letters. Underneath was written: "For the Countess of Sellingworth."
When the man saw Lady Sellingworth in her corner he gave no sign of
recognition but he took out of the breast pocket of his travelling coat
a pocket-book, went deliberately up to the window, looked hard at the
label, and then wrote something--her name, no doubt--in his book. This
done, he put the book back in his pocket and walked gravely away without
glancing at her again.

And now Lady Sellingworth no longer regretted that she was going to
Paris. What the man had just done had reassured her. It was now evident
to her that the first time they had met in Bond Street he had not known
who she was or anything about her. He must simply have been struck by
her beauty, and from that moment had wished to know her. Ever since
then he must have been longing to know who she was. The fact that he
had evidently not discovered her name till he had read it on the label
pasted on the railway carriage window convinced her that, in spite of
his bo