dining-room. I believe he now imagined that I had settled down into the placid daily enactment of the role of an injured wife. I had fretted at first, protested, even rebelled, but now it was all over; the uselessness of such revolt had become apparent. I am convinced that those were his ideas.

I rang the bell for Marie. "Bring me my long cloak, hat and veil," I ordered; "I am going up to London at once."

"At once!" echoed Marie in surprise, "this wet night?"

"Yes," I replied impatiently, "if any one should call, you can say I have gone—Oh, anywhere."

"To Madame, your mother—to Grosvenor Square?"

"Exactly," I replied, happily untruthful. No one would call, but it was best to be on the safe side.

I covered my face with a dark veil, the hackneyed device of the mysterious woman. I did this because I was afraid I might be recognized on my way to London. I did not want tongues