e chose take him
away?

Lady Sellingworth's instinct told her that while she had been abroad
Craven and Beryl had travelled in their friendship. But she did not yet
know exactly how far Craven had gone. It seemed evident now that Beryl
had been suddenly diverted, no doubt by some strong influence, on to
another track; Lady Sellingworth knew that she and Craven were no
longer meeting. Something had happened which had interfered with their
intimacy. Rumour said that Beryl Van Tuyn was in love with another man,
with this Nicolas Arabian, whom nobody knew. Everyone in the Coombe set
was talking about it. How keenly did Craven feel this sudden defection?
That it had hurt his young pride Lady Sellingworth was certain. But she
was not certain whether it had seriously wounded his heart.

"Am I a palliative?" she thought as she gazed into the glass.

And then came the terrible question:

"How can I be anything else?"

She heard the door opening behind her, took her hands from the
mantelpiece, and turned round quickly.

"Mr. Craven, my lady."

"You're all ready? Capital! I say, am I late?"

"No. It's only a little past seven."

He had taken her hand. She longed to press his, but she did not press
it. He looked at her, she thought, rather curiously.

"I've got a taxi at the door. It's rather a horrid night. You're not
dressed for walking?"

Again his look seemed to question her.

She put up a hand to her face, near the mouth, nervously.

"We had better drive. In these winter evenings walking isn't very
pleasant. We must be a little less Bohemian in taste, mustn't we?"

He seemed now slightly constrained. His eyes did not rest upon her quite
naturally, she thought.

"Shall we go down?" she said.

"Yes, do let us."

As she moved to go she looked into the glass. She could not help doing
that. He noticed it, and thought:

"I wonder why she has begun making her face up like this?"

He did not like it. He preferred her as she had been when he had first
come to her house on an autumn evening. To him there was something
almost distressing in this change which he noticed specially to-night.
And her look into the glass had shown him that she was preoccupied about
her appearance. Such a preoccupation on her part seemed foreign to her
character as he had conceived of it. Her greatest charm had been her
extraordinary lack, or apparent lack, of all self-consciousness. She had
never seemed to bother about herself, to be