hom the temple means much. She could
not dissociate dweller from dwelling. The outside had always had a
tremendous influence upon her, and time had not lessened that influence.
Perhaps Sir Seymour felt that she was trying to come to some great
decision, though he did not know, or even suspect, what that decision
was. For long ago he had finally given up all hope of ever winning her
for his wife. He sat still after asking this question. The lamplight
shone over his thick, curly white hair, his lined, weather-beaten,
distinguished old face, broad, cavalryman's hands, upright figure, shone
into his faithful dog's eyes. And she looked and took in every physical
detail, as only a woman can when she looks at a man whom she is
considering in a certain way.

The silence seemed long. At last he broke it. For he had seen an
expression of despair come into her face.

"My dear, what is it? You must tell me!"

But suddenly the look of despair gave place to a mocking look which he
knew very well.

"It's only boredom, Seymour. I have had too much of Berkeley Square. I
think I shall go away for a little."

"To Cap Martin?"

"Perhaps. Where does one go when one wants to run away from oneself?"

And then she changed the conversation and talked, as she generally
talked to Sir Seymour, of the life they both knew, of the doings at
Court, of politics, people, the state of the country, what was likely to
come to old England.

She had decided against Seymour. But she had not decided for Craven.
After a moment of despair, of feeling herself lost, she had suddenly
said to herself, or a voice had said in her, a voice coming from she
knew not where:

"I will remain free, but henceforth I will be my own mistress in
freedom, not the slave of myself."

And then mentally she had dismissed both Seymour and Craven out of her
life, the one as a possible husband, the other as a friend.

If she could not bring herself to take the one, then she would not keep
the other. She must seek for peace in loneliness. Evidently that was
her destiny. She gave herself to it with mocking eyes and despair in her
heart.

PART FIVE

CHAPTER I

Three days later, soon after four o'clock, Craven rang the bell at
Lady Sellingworth's door. As he stood for a moment waiting for it to be
answered he wondered whether she would be at home to him, how she would
greet him if she chose to see him. The door was opened by a footman.

"Is her ladyship at hom