she recognized to her dismay that the busy transverse
street was one which led to the railway. She quickened her pace to a
run; he did not see her; he even walked faster. She looked behind for
the carriage. The driver in emerging from the sixteenth-century street
to the nineteenth had apparently turned to the right, instead of to the
left as she had done, so that her aunt had lost sight of her. However,
she dare not mind it, if Somerset would but look back! He partly turned,
but not far enough, and it was only to hail a passing omnibus upon which
she discerned his luggage. Somerset jumped in, the omnibus drove on, and
diminished up the long road. Paula stood hopelessly still, and in a few
minutes puffs of steam showed her that the train had gone.

She turned and waited, the two or three children who had gathered
round her looking up sympathizingly in her face. Her aunt, having now
discovered the direction of her flight, drove up and beckoned to her.

'What's the matter?' asked Mrs. Goodman in alarm.

'Why?'

'That you should run like that, and look so woebegone.'

'Nothing: only I have decided not to stay in this town.'

'What! he is gone, I suppose?'

'Yes!' exclaimed Paula, with tears of vexation in her eyes. 'It isn't
every man who gets a woman of my position to run after him on foot, and
alone, and he ought to have looked round! Drive to the station; I want
to make an inquiry.'

On reaching the station she asked the booking-clerk some questions, and
returned to her aunt with a cheerful countenance. 'Mr. Somerset has only
gone to Caen,' she said. 'He is the only Englishman who went by this
train, so there is no mistake. There is no other train for two hours. We
will go on then--shall we?'

'I am indifferent,' said Mrs. Goodman. 'But, Paula, do you think this
quite right? Perhaps he is not so anxious for your forgiveness as you
think. Perhaps he saw you, and wouldn't stay.'

A momentary dismay crossed her face, but it passed, and she answered,
'Aunt, that's nonsense. I know him well enough, and can assure you that
if he had only known I was running after him, he would have looked round
sharply enough, and would have given his little finger rather than have
missed me! I don't make myself so silly as to run after a gentleman
without good grounds, for I know well that it is an undignified thing to
do. Indeed, I could never have thought of doing it, if I had not been so
miserably in the wrong!'

II.

Th