med of being in Paris. She even compared herself with the
horrible old woman in the wig, who, perhaps, had bought the brown man as
she might have bought a big Newfoundland dog.

Fifty! Fifty! Fifty! It knelled in her ears. Caroline saw her as a woman
of fifty. Perhaps everyone really saw her so. And yet--why had the man
given her that strange look in Bond Street? Why had he wished her to
come to Paris? She tried, with a really unusual sincerity, to find some
other reason than the reason which had delighted her vanity. But she
failed. Sincerely she failed.

And yet--was it possible?

She thought of giving up, of becoming like Caroline. It would be a great
rest. But how empty her life would be. Caroline's life was a habit. But
such a life for her would be an absolute novelty. No doubt Caroline's
reward had come to her in middle-age. Middle-age was bringing something
to her, Adela Sellingworth, which was certainly not a reward. One got
what one earned. That was certain. And she had earned wages which she
dreaded having paid to her.

She had a good brain, and she realized that if she had the moral courage
she might--it was possible--be rewarded by a peace of mind such as she
had never yet known. She was able as it were to catch a glimpse of a
future in which she might be at ease with herself. It even enticed her.
But something whispered to her, "It would be stagnation--death in life."
And then she was afraid of it.

She spent the evening in miserable depression, not knowing what she
could do. She distrusted and almost hated herself. And she could not
decide whether or not on the morrow to give Caroline some insight into
her state of mind.

On the following day she was still miserable, even tormented, and quite
undecided as to what she was going to do.

She spent the morning at her dressmaker's, and walked, with her maid,
in the Rue de la Paix. There she met a Frenchwoman whom she knew well,
Madame de Gretigny, who begged her to come to lunch at her house in the
Faubourg St. Honore. She accepted. What else could she do? After lunch
she drove with her friend in the Bois. Then they dropped in to tea with
some French mutual friends.

The usual Paris was gently beginning to take possession of her. What was
the good of it all? What had she really expected of this visit? She had
started from London with a crazy sense of adventure. And here she was
plunged in the life of convention! Oh, for the freedom of a man! Or the
st