ck to her the
hideous memory of Arabian.

What would he do now? It was very strange that after ten years she had
been able, indeed she had been obliged, to revenge herself upon him,
this man whom she had never known, to whom she had never even spoken.
And she had never dreamed of revenge. She had let him go with his prey.
Probably her jewels had enabled him to live as he wished to live for
years. And now she had paid him back! Did Fate work blindly, or was
there a terribly subtle and inexorable plan at work through all human
life?

"Miladi does not like to wear this ruby?" said Cecile.

"Why do you say that?"

"Milady looks at it so strangely!"

"It reminds me of something. Yes, I will wear it to-night. But what's
the good?"

"Miladi--?"

"No one will see it but myself."

"Milady should go out more, much more, and receive company here."

"Perhaps I'll give a series of dinners," said Lady Sellingworth with a
smile.

And she turned away and went down.

Murgatroyd and a footman were waiting for her. On the dining table was
a menu telling her what she had to eat, what her cook had been, and was,
busy over in the kitchen. She sat down at the big table, picked up the
menu and glanced at it. But she did not see what was written on it.
She saw only in imagination the years before her, perhaps five years,
perhaps ten, perhaps even more. For her race was a long living one. She
might, like some of her forbears, live to be very old. Ten years more of
dinners like this one in Berkeley Square! Could that be endured? As she
sipped her soup she thought of travelling. She might shut up the house,
go over the seas, wander through the world. There were things to be
seen. Nature spread her infinite variety for the sons and the daughters
of men. She might advertise in _The Times_ for a travelling companion.
There would be plenty of answers. Or she might get one of her many
acquaintances to come with her, some pleasant woman who would not talk
too much, or too little.

Fish!

When, finally, some fruit had been put before her, and Murgatroyd and
the footman had left the room, she remained--so she thought of it--like
a mummy in the tomb which belonged to her. And presently through the
profound silence she heard the hoot of a motor-horn. Someone going
somewhere! Someone who had something to do, somewhere to go! Someone
from whom all the activities had not passed away for ever!

The motor-horn sounded again nearer. Now she he