lness and despair were forgotten. The wildness
that would not die surged up in her. Her vanity glowed. She had been
wrong, utterly wrong. Miss Briggs had been wrong. Despite the difference
between their ages, this man, young, strong, amazingly handsome, must
have fallen in love with her at first sight. He must have--somehow--been
watching her in Paris. He must have ascertained that she was leaving
Paris that morning, have followed her to the station determined at all
costs to have a word with her.

Should she let him have that word?

Just for an instant she hesitated. Then, almost passionately, she gave
way to a turbulent impulse. She felt reckless. At that moment she was
almost ready to let the train go without her. But there were still a
few, a very few, minutes before the time for its departure. She got up,
left the carriage, and stood in the corridor looking out of the window.
Immediately the man slightly raised his hat, sent her a long and
imploring look, and then moved slowly away down the platform in the
direction of the entrance to it. She gazed after him. He paused, again
raised his hat, and made a very slight, scarcely noticeable gesture with
his hand. Then he remained where he was.

Saying to herself that she would certainly not obey his obvious wish and
follow him, but would simply get out of the train and take a few breaths
of air on the platform--as any woman might to while away the time--Lady
Sellingworth made her way to the end of the corridor and descended to
the platform. The brown man was still there, a little way off. Several
people were hurrying to take their places in the train. Porters were
carrying hand luggage, or wheeling trucks of heavy luggage to the
railway vans. No one seemed to have any time to take notice of her or
of the man. She did not look at him, but began slowly to stroll up and
down, keeping near to her carriage. She had given him his chance. Now
it was for him to take firm hold on it. She fully expected that he would
come up and speak to her. She thrilled with excitement at the prospect.
What would he say? How would he act? Would he explain why he had done
nothing in Paris? Would he beg her to stay on in Paris? Would he ask to
be allowed to visit her in London? Would he--But he did not come up to
her.

After taking several short turns, keeping her eyes resolutely away from
the place where he was standing, Lady Sellingworth could not resist the
impulse to look towards him to se