le confirmed the appeal. She wanted to know how lately Bowen
had left New York, and pressed him to tell her when he had last seen her
boy, how he was looking, and whether Ralph had been persuaded to go down
to Clare's on Saturdays and get a little riding and tennis? And dear
Laura--was she well too, and was Paul with her, or still with his
grandmother? They were all dreadfully bad correspondents, and so was
she. Undine laughingly admitted; and when Ralph had last written her
these questions had still been undecided.

As she smiled up at Bowen he saw her glance stray to the spot where his
companion hovered; and when the diners rose to move toward the garden
for coffee she said, with a sweet note and a detaining smile: "Do come
with us--I haven't half finished."

Van Degen echoed the request, and Bowen, amused by Undine's arts, was
presently introducing Chelles, and joining with him in the party's
transit to the terrace. The rain had ceased, and under the clear evening
sky the restaurant garden opened green depths that skilfully hid its
narrow boundaries. Van Degen's company was large enough to surround
two of the tables on the terrace, and Bowen noted the skill with which
Undine, leaving him to Mrs. Shallum's care, contrived to draw Raymond de
Chelles to the other table. Still more noticeable was the effect of
this stratagem on Van Degen, who also found himself relegated to Mrs.
Shallum's group. Poor Peter's state was betrayed by the irascibility
which wreaked itself on a jostling waiter, and found cause for loud
remonstrance in the coldness of the coffee and the badness of the
cigars; and Bowen, with something more than the curiosity of the
looker-on, wondered whether this were the real clue to Undine's conduct.
He had always smiled at Mrs. Fairford's fears for Ralph's domestic
peace. He thought Undine too clear-headed to forfeit the advantages of
her marriage; but it now struck him that she might have had a glimpse
of larger opportunities. Bowen, at the thought, felt the pang of
the sociologist over the individual havoc wrought by every social
readjustment: it had so long been clear to him that poor Ralph was a
survival, and destined, as such, to go down in any conflict with the
rising forces.

XX

Some six weeks later. Undine Marvell stood at the window smiling down on
her recovered Paris.

Her hotel sitting-room had, as usual, been flowered, cushioned and
lamp-shaded into a delusive semblance of stability;