."

But he had taken her by surprise. A faint shadow flitted
across her face. "Not so happy, I see."

"You see too much. Won't you lunch with us? We'll have it in
about half an hour."

He accepted promptly and they went up together. His glance
traveled round the drawing-room; and she knew he had noted all
the changes she had made on better acquaintance with her
surroundings and wider knowledge of interior furnishing. She
saw that he approved, and it increased her good humor. "Are you
hurrying through Paris on your way to somewhere else?" she asked.

"No, I stop here--I think--until I sail for America."

"And that will be soon?"

"Perhaps not until July. I have no plans. I've finished a
play a woman suggested to me some time ago. And I'm waiting."

A gleam of understanding came into her eyes. There was
controlled interest in her voice as she inquired:

"When is it to be produced?"

"When the woman who suggested it is ready to act in it."

"Do I by any chance know her?"

"You used to know her. You will know her again."

She shook her head slowly, a pensive smile hovering about her
eyes and lips. "No--not again. I have changed."

"We do not change," said he. "We move, but we do not change.
You are the same character you were when you came into the
world. And what you were then, that you will be when the
curtain falls on the climax of your last act. Your
circumstances will change--and your clothes--and your face,
hair, figure--but not _you_."

"Do you believe that?"

"I _know_ it."

She nodded slowly, the violet-gray eyes pensive. "Birds in
the strong wind--that's what we are. Driven this way or
that--or quite beaten down. But the wind doesn't change
sparrow to eagle--or eagle to gull--does it?"

She had removed her coat and was seated on an oval lounge
gazing into the open fire. He was standing before it, looking
taller and stronger than ever, in a gray lounging suit. A
cigarette depended loosely from the corner of his mouth. He
said abruptly:

"How are you getting on with your acting?"

She glanced in surprise.

"Gourdain," Brent explained. "He had to talk to somebody
about how wonderful you are. So he took to writing me--two
huge letters a week--all about you."

"I'm fond of him. And he's fond of Clelie. She's my----"

"I know all," he interrupted. "The tie between them is their
fondness for you. Tell me about the acting."

"Oh--Clelie and I have been going t