which led in an absolutely straight line, two miles
long, to the Port Maillot and the city. Spring decorated the magnificent
wooded thoroughfare. The side-alleys, aisles of an interminable nave,
were sprinkled with revellers and lovers and the most respectable
families half hidden amid black branches and gleams of tender green.
Automobiles and carriages threaded the main alley at varying speeds. The
number of ancient horse-cabs gradually increased until, after the
intersection of the Allee de la Reine Marguerite, they thronged the vast
road. All the humble and shabby genteel people in Paris who could
possibly afford a cab seemed to have taken a cab. Nearly every cab was
overloaded. The sight of this vast pathetic effort of the disinherited
towards gaiety and distraction and the mood of spring, intensified the
vague sadness in George due to the race-crowd, Lois's silence, and the
lack of news about the competition.

At length Lois said, scowling--no doubt involuntarily:

"I think I'd better tell you now. Irene Wheeler's committed suicide.
Shot herself." She pressed her lips together and looked at the road.

George gave a startled exclamation. He could not for an instant credit
the astounding news.

"But how do you know? Who told you?"

"The man who spoke to me in the grand stand. He's correspondent of _The
London Courier_--friend of father's of course."

George protested:

"Then why on earth didn't you tell me before?... Shot herself! What
for?"

"I didn't tell you before because I couldn't."

All the violence of George's nature came to the surface as he said
brutally:

"Of course you could!"

"I tell you I couldn't!" she cried. "I knew the car wouldn't be there
for us until after the Prix du Cadran. And if I'd told you I couldn't
have borne to be walking about that place three-quarters of an hour. We
should have had to talk about it. I couldn't have borne that. And so you
needn't be cross, please."

But her voice did not break, nor her eyes shine.

"I was wondering whether I should tell the chauffeur at once, or let him
find it out."

"I should let him find it out," said George. "He doesn't know that you
know. Besides, it might upset his driving."

"Oh! I shouldn't mind about his driving," Lois murmured disdainfully.

V

When the uninformed chauffeur drove the car with a grand sweep under the
marquise of the ostentatious pale yellow block in the Avenue Hoche where
Irene Wheeler had had her fl