the lamp on our
side of the way shone on the hair of the slim young woman in black, who
got down first. It was gorgeous hair, the colour of burnished copper. I
had heard a man say once that only two women in the world had hair of
that exact shade: Jane Hading and Maxine de Renzie.

My heart gave a great bound, and I guessed in an instant why Lisa had
brought me here, though how she could have learned where to find the
house, I didn't know.

"Oh, Lisa!" I reproached her. "How _could_ you?"

"It really _was_ an inspiration. I'm sure of that now," she said
quietly, though I could tell by her tone that she was trying to hide
excitement. "You never saw that woman before, except once on the stage,
yet you know who she is. You jumped as if she had fired a shot at you."

"I know by the hair," I answered. "I might have foreseen this would be
the kind of thing you would think of--it's like you."

"You ought to be grateful to me for thinking of it," said Lisa. "It's
entirely for your sake; and it's quite true, it was an inspiration to
come here. This afternoon in the train I read an interview in 'Femina'
with Maxine de Renzie, about the new play she's produced to-night. There
was a picture of her, and a description of her house in the Rue
d'Hollande."

"Now you have satisfied your curiosity. You've seen her back, and her
maid's back, and the garden wall," I said, more sharply than I often
speak to Lisa. "I shall tell the driver to take us to the hotel at once.
I know why you want to wait here, but you shan't--I won't. I'm going
away as quickly as I can."

She caught my dress as I would have leaned out to speak to the driver.
Her manner had suddenly changed, and she was all softness and sweetness,
and persuasiveness.

"Di, dearest girl, _don't_ be cross with me; please don't
misunderstand," she implored. "I love you, you know, even if you
sometimes think I don't; I want you to be happy--oh, wait a moment, and
listen. I've been so miserable all day, knowing you were miserable; and
I've felt horribly guilty for fear, after all, I'd said too much. Of
course if you'd guessed where I meant to come, you wouldn't have stirred
out of the hotel, and it was better for you to see for yourself. Unless
Ivor Dundas came here with a motor-cab, as we did, he could hardly have
arrived yet, so if he does come, we shall know. If he _doesn't_ come, we
shall know, too. Think how happy you'll feel if he _doesn't!_ I'll
apologise to you then, f