an unaccustomed hour, their time of activity and
bustle past. The rooms were littered with torn papers; waste-baskets
overflowing; looking silent, scrappy, and abandoned in the grey morning
light which seemed intrusive, usurping the place of the usual artificial
illumination, and betraying a bareness which the other concealed. Jennie
recognized a relationship between her own up-all-night feeling and the
spirit of the deserted rooms.

At the railway station she found her maid waiting for her, surrounded by
luggage.

"Have you got your ticket?"

"Yes, my lady."

"I have changed my mind, and will not go to Paris just now. Ask a porter
to put those trunks in the left-luggage office, and bring me the keys
and the receipt."

When this was done and money matters had been adjusted between them,
Jennie gave the girl five pounds more than was due to her, and saw
her into the railway carriage, well pleased with the reward. A hansom
brought Jennie to her flat, and so ended the exhausting episode of the
Duchess of Chiselhurst's ball.

Yet an event, like a malady, leaves numerous consequences in its train,
extending, who shall say, how far into the future? The first symptom of
these consequences was a correspondence, and, as there is no reading
more dreary than a series of letters, merely their substance is given
here. When Jennie was herself again, she wrote a long letter to
the Princess von Steinheimer, detailing the particulars of her
impersonation, and begging pardon for what she had done, while giving
her reasons for doing it; but, perhaps because it did not occur to her,
she made not the slightest reference to Lord Donal Stirling. Two answers
came to this--one a registered packet containing the diamonds which the
Princess had previously offered to her; the other a letter from the
Princess's own hand. The glitter of the diamonds showed Jennie that she
had been speedily forgiven, and the letter corroborated this. In fact,
the Princess upbraided her for not letting her into the secret earlier.
"It is just the jolly kind of thing I should have delighted in," wrote
her Highness. "And then, if I had known, I should not have sent that
unlucky telegram. It serves you right for not taking me into your
confidence, and I am glad you had a fright. Think of it coming in at
that inopportune moment, just as telegrams do at a play! But, Jennie,
are you sure you told me everything? A letter came from London the day
before yours arrived