ven's address
and telephone number in her address book, but she might perhaps have
kept the note he had written to her before their first meeting. She did
not remember having torn it up. She went to her writing-table, but could
not find the note. She found his card, but it had only his club address
on it. Then she went downstairs to a morning room she had on the ground
floor. There was another big writing-table there. The telephone was
there too. After searching for several minutes she discovered Craven's
note, the only note he had ever written to her. Stamped in the left-hand
corner of the notepaper was a telephone number.

She was about to take down the receiver when she remembered that Craven
had not yet had time to walk back to his flat from her house, even if
he were going straight home. She must wait a few minutes. She came away
from the writing-table, sat down in an armchair, and waited.

Night had closed in. Heavy curtains were drawn across the tall windows.
One electric lamp, which she had just turned on, threw a strong light
on the writing-table, on pens, stationery, an address book, a telephone
book, a big blue-and-gold inkstand, some photographs which stood on
a ledge protected by a tiny gilded rail. The rest of the room was in
shadow. A low fire burned in the grate.

Lady Sellingworth did not take up a book or occupy herself in any way.
She just sat still in the armchair and waited. Now and then she heard a
faint footfall, the hoot of a motor horn, the slight noise of a passing
car. And loneliness crept upon her like something gathering her into a
cold and terrible embrace.

It occurred to her that she might ask Craven presently through the
telephone to come and dine in Berkeley Square. No one would see her with
him if she did that, except her own servants.

But that would be a compromise. She was not fond of compromises. Better
one thing or the other. Either she would go with him to the restaurant
or she would not see him at all that night.

If Caroline Briggs were only here! And yet if she were it would be
difficult to speak about the matter to her. If she were told of it, what
would she say? That would depend upon how she was told. If she were told
all the truth, not mere incidents, but also the feelings attending
them, she would tell her friend to give the whole thing up. Caroline was
always drastic. She always went straight to the point.

But Caroline was in Paris.

Lady Sellingworth looked at