y when the separation became known to the world. That was the
beginning and the end of the matter. Why could not the stupid old world
mind its own business, in heaven's name? Good people, especially good
women of the old type, would all counsel the imbecile sacrifice. They
would all condemn this step. Indeed, the sacrifice that Hadria had
refused to make, was so common, so much a matter of course, that her
refusal appeared startling and preposterous: scarcely less astonishing
than if a neighbour at dinner, requesting one to pass the salt, had been
met with a rude "I shan't."

"A useful phrase at times, of the nature of a tonic, amidst our
enervating civilisation," she reflected.

There was a tramping of passengers up and down the deck. People walked
obliquely, with head to windward. Draperies fluttered; complexions
verged towards blue. Only two ladies who had abandoned hope from the
beginning, suffered from the crossing. The kindly sailors occupied their
leisure in bringing tarpaulins to the distressed.

"Well, Hannah, how are you getting on?"

Hannah looked forward ardently to the end of the journey, but her charge
seemed delighted with the new scene.

"Have you ever been to France before, ma'am?" Hannah asked, perhaps
noticing the sparkle of her employer's eye and the ring in her voice.

"Yes, once; I spent a week in Paris with Mr. Temperley, and we went on
afterwards to the Pyrenees. That was just before we took the Red House."

"It must have been beautiful," said Hannah. "And did you take the
babies, ma'am?"

"They were neither of them in existence then," replied Mrs. Temperley. A
strange fierce light passed through her eyes for a second, but Hannah
did not notice it. Martha's shawl was blowing straight into her eyes,
and the nurse was engaged in arranging it more comfortably.

The coast of France had become clear, some time ago; they were making
the passage very quickly to-day. Soon the red roofs of Boulogne were to
be distinguished, with the grey dome of the cathedral on the hill-top.
Presently, the boat had arrived in the bright old town, and every detail
of outline and colour was standing forth brilliantly, as if the whole
scene had been just washed over with clear water and all the tints were
wet.

The first impression was keen. The innumerable differences from English
forms and English tones sprang to the eye. A whiff of foreign smell and
a sound of foreign speech reached the passengers at about the