which comes only in following the dictates of the
nature one is born with!

Lights twinkled here and there in the gloom. Again the shadow passed in
the corridor. A moment later Lady Sellingworth's maid appeared to take
charge of the jewel-case.

The crowd at the Gare du Nord was great, and the station was badly lit.
Lady Sellingworth did not see her reason for coming to Paris. A carriage
was waiting for her. She got into it with her jewel-case, and drove away
to her apartment, leaving her maid to follow with the luggage.

In the evening she dined alone, and she went to bed early.

She had made no engagements in Paris; had not told any of her friends
there that she was going to be there for some days. She had no wish to
go into society. Her wish was to be perfectly free. But as she lay in
bed in her pretty, familiar room, she began to wonder what she was going
to do. She had come to Paris suddenly, driven by an intense caprice,
without making any plans, without even deciding how long she was going
to stay. She had imagined that in loneliness she would keep a hold on
liberty. But now she began to wonder about things.

Even her secret wildness did not tell her that she could "knock about"
in Paris like a man. For one thing she was far too well known for that.
Many people might recognize her. When she had been much younger she had
certainly been to all sorts of odd places, and had had a wonderful time.
But somehow, with the passing of the years, she had learnt to pay some
attention to the imp within her, though there were moments when she
defied him. And he told her that she simply could not now do many of
the daring things which she had done when she was a brilliant and
lovely young woman. Besides, what would be the use? Almost suddenly she
realized the difficulty of her situation.

She could not very well go about Paris alone. And yet to go about in
company must inevitably frustrate the only purpose which had brought
her to Paris. She had come there with an almost overwhelming desire, but
with no plan for its realization.

But surely he had a plan. He must certainly have one if, as she still
believed, in spite of the trio, he had meant her to come to Paris
when he did. She wondered intensely what his plan was. He looked very
determined, audacious even, in spite of the curious and almost pleading
softness of his eyes, a softness which had haunted her imagination ever
since she had first seen him. She felt convin