them and what they really
meant.

"I am going to Paris; I can't live without him any longer."

They were true anyway. She was going to Paris because she felt she
could no longer live without Raymond.

She opened her eyes with a little gasp; they were her own words. She
remembered that she had written them in the note she had left on the
pincushion for June.

Poor June! She would be angry. And Micky.... A little throb touched
her heart. She had not been very kind to Micky. She hoped he would
soon forget her. Her eyes closed again.

How long did it take to get to Paris? She had not the least idea. She
had not got much money with her; she tried to remember how much, but
somehow her brain refused to act; she took out her purse and tipped
its contents into her lap. She started to count it, but after a moment
she gave it up with a helpless feeling and put it all back again.

"Tubby Clare's little widow...." Who was Tubby Clare? she wondered.
She laughed foolishly. What a name!

But he had left his widow a great deal of money, and money was
everything nowadays. Nobody could be happy without money; Raymond had
told her that months ago; a man with money has the whole world at his
feet, so he had said.

She thought of Micky--he was one of the richest men in London, and yet
he was not happy. She had never thought that he looked happy; she
wondered if it was really because he loved her.

She wished she could stop thinking. She was so tired, she wanted to
sleep; but the wheel of thought went on and on in her brain.

The miles seemed to crawl by. Soon the fields and open country were
left behind; the houses were closer together; presently they crowded
one another, almost jostling each other out of the way, it seemed.

What an ugly place London was. She sat up with a little shiver.
Strange how cold she felt, and yet her head was burning hot.

Would this journey never end? Surely they had been travelling for days
and days already.

The train stopped with a jerk.

"Paddington ... all change--all change...."

Esther stumbled to her feet.

CHAPTER XXVI

Micky had just reached the unpretentious inn in the village where he
had taken a room, when he was hailed from across the road by June; a
very cheerful looking June, in a business-like coat and skirt of rough
tweed, and carrying a walking-stick, which she proceeded to wave at
him vigorously.

"Back so soon!" She came across to where he stood by the car, and