December Love

by Robert Hichens

  CHAPTER V

  Miss Van Tuyn had not intended to stay long in London when she came overfrom Paris. But now she changed her mind. She was pulled at by threeinterests--Lady Sellingworth, Craven and the living bronze. A cold handhad touched her vanity on the night of the dinner in Soho. She had feltangry with Craven for not coming back to the Cafe Royal, and angrierstill with Lady Sellingworth for keeping him with her. Although she didnot positively know that Craven had spent the last part of the eveningin the drawing-room at Berkeley Square, she felt certain that he haddone so. Probably Lady Sellingworth had pressed him to go in. Butperhaps he had been glad to go, perhaps he had submitted to an influencewhich had carried him for the time out of his younger, more beautifulfriend's reach.

  Miss Van Tuyn resolved definitely that Craven must at once be added tothe numerous men who were mad about her. So much was due to her vanity.Besides, she liked Craven, and might grow to like him very much if sheknew him better. She decided to know him better, much better, and wroteher letter to him. Craven had puzzled a little over the final sentenceof that letter. There were two reasons for its apparently casualinsertion. Miss Van Tuyn wished to whip Craven into alertness by givinghis male vanity a flick. Her other reason was more subtle. Some instinctseemed to tell her that in the future she might want to use the strangeras a weapon in connexion with Craven. She did not know how exactly. Butin that sentence of her letter she felt that she was somehow preparingthe ground for incidents which would be brought about by destiny, orwhich chance would allow to happen.

  That she would some day know "the living bronze" she felt certain. Forshe meant to know him. Garstin's brutal comment on him had frightenedher. She did not believe it to be just. Garstin was always brutal in hiscomments. And he lived so perpetually among shady, or more than shady,people that it was difficult for him to believe in the decency ofanybody who was worth knowing. For him the world seemed to be dividedinto the hopelessly dull and conventional, who did not count, and thedefinitely outrageous, who were often interesting and worthy of beingstudied and sometimes painted. It must be obvious to anyone thatthe living bronze could not be numbered among the merely dull andconventional. Naturally enough, then, Garstin supposed him to be asuccessful blackmailer. Miss Van Tuyn was not going to allow herselfto be influenced by the putrescence of Garstin's mind. She had her ownviews on everything and usually held to them. She had quite decidedthat she would get to know the living bronze through Garstin, whoalways managed to know anyone he was interested in. Being totallyunconventional and not, as he said, caring a damn about the proprieties,if he wished to speak to someone he spoke to him, if he wished to painthim he told him to come along to the studio. There was a simplicityabout Garstin's methods which was excused in some degree by his fame.But if he had not been famous he would have acted in just the same way.No shyness hindered him; no doubts about himself ever assailed him.He just did what he wanted to do without _arriere pensee_. There wascertainly strength in Garstin, although it was not moral strength.

  The morning after the dinner in Soho Miss Van Tuyn telegraphed to FannyCronin to come over at once, with Bourget's latest works, and engagedan apartment at Claridge's. Although she sometime dined in the shadowof Vesuvius, she preferred to issue forth from some lair which wasunmistakably smart and comfortable. Claridge's was both, and everybodycame there. Miss Cronin wired obedience and would be on the wayimmediately. Meanwhile Miss Van Tuyn received Craven's note in answer tohers.

  She grasped all its meaning, surface and subterranean, immediately. Itmeant a very polite, very carefully masked, withdrawal from the sphereof her influence. The passage about Soho was perfectly clear to hermind, although to many it might have seemed to convey an agreeablyworded acceptance of her suggestion, only laying its translation intoaction in a rather problematical future, the sort of future which wouldbecome present when "neither of us has an engagement."

  Craven had evidently been "got at" by Adela Sellingworth.

  On the morning after Miss Van Tuyn's telegram to Paris Fanny Croninarrived, with Bourget's latest book in her hand, and later they settledin at Claridge's. Miss Cronin went to bed, and Miss Van Tuyn, who had noengagement for that evening, went presently to the telephone. Althoughin her note to Craven by implication she had left it to him to suggesta tete-a-tete dinner in Soho, she was now resolved to ask him. She was agirl of the determined modern type, not much troubled by the delicaciesor inclined to wait humbly on the pleasure of men. If a man did not showher the way, she was quite ready to show the way to him. Without beingprecisely of the huntress type, she knew how to take bow and arrow inher hand.

  She rang up Craven, and the following dialogue took place at thetelephone.

  "Yes? Yes?"

  "Is Mr. Craven there?"

  "Yes, I am Alick Craven. Who is it, please?"

  "Don't you know?"

  "One minute! Is it--I'm afraid I don't."

  "Beryl Van Tuyn."

  "Of course! I knew the voice at once, but somehow I couldn't place it.How are you, Miss Van Tuyn?"

  "Dangerously well."

  "That's splendid."

  "And you?"

  "I'm what dull people call very fit and cheery."

  "How dreadful! Now, tell me--are you engaged to-night? I'm sure youaren't, because I want you to take me to dine at the _Bella Napoli_.We agreed to tell each other when we were free. So I take you at yourword."

  "Oh, I'm awfully sorry!"

  "What?"

  "I'm ever so sorry."

  "Why?"

  "I have a dinner engagement to-night."

  "What a bore! But surely you can get out of it?"

  "I'm afraid not. No, really I can't."

  "Send an excuse! Say you are ill."

  "I can't honestly. It's--it's rather important. Besides, the fact is,I'm the host."

  "Oh!"

  The timbre of Miss Van Tuyn's voice changed slightly at this crisis inthe conversation.

  "Oh--if you're the host, of course. . . . You really _are_ the host?"

  "Yes, I really am. So you see!"

  "No, but I hear and understand. Never mind. Ask me another night."

  "Yes--that's it. Another night. Thank you so much. By the way, does theliving bronze--"

  "What? The living what?"

  "Bronze! . . . The living bronze--"

  "Oh, yes. Well, what about it?"

  "Does it wear petticoats or trousers?"

  "Trousers."

  "Then I think I rather hate it."

  "You--"

  But at this point the exchange intervened. Then something happened; andthen Craven heard a voice saying:

  "No, darling! It's the teeth--the teeth on the left-hand side. You knowwhen we were at the Carlton I was in agony. Tell Annie not to--"

  It was useless to persist. Besides, he did not want to. So he put upthe receiver. Almost immediately afterwards he was rung up by LadySellingworth, hung on the edge of disappointment for an instant, andthen was caught back into happiness.

  When he finally left the telephone and went to his bedroom to change hisclothes, but not to "dress," he thanked God for having clinched mattersso swiftly. Lady Sellingworth had certainly meant to let him down. Someinstinct had told him what to say to her to make her change her mind.At least, he supposed so. For she had abruptly changed her mind afterhearing of Miss Van Tuyn's invitation. But why had she meant to give upthe dinner? What had happened between his exit from her house and herringing him up? For he could not believe in the excuse of ill-healthput forward by her. He was puzzled. Women certainly were difficult tounderstand. But it was all right now. His audacity--for he thought itrather audacious of him to have asked Lady Sellingworth to dine alonewith him at the _Bella Napoli_--was going to be rewarded. As he changedhis clothes he hummed to himself:

  "_O Napoli! Bella Napoli_!"

  At Claridge's meanwhile Miss Van Tuyn was not humming. As she came awayfrom the telephone she felt in a very bad temper. Things were not goingwell for her just now in London, an
d she was accustomed to things goingwell. As in Craven's letter, so just now at the telephone, she had beenaware of resistance, of a distinct holding back from her influence.This was a rare experience for her, and she resented it. She believedCraven's excuse for not dining with her. It was incredible that ayoung man who had nothing to do would refuse to pass an evening in hercompany. No; he was engaged. But she had felt at the telephone thathe was not sorry he was engaged; she still felt it. He was going to dosomething which he preferred doing to dining with her. The tell-taleline showed itself in her low white forehead.

  Fanny Cronin had gone to bed; otherwise they might have dined downstairsin the restaurant, where they would have been sure of meeting peoplewhom Miss Van Tuyn knew. She did not choose to go down and dine alone.A lonely dinner followed by a lonely evening upstairs did not appeal toher; for a moment, like Lady Sellingworth in Berkeley Square, she feltthe oppression of solitude. She went to the window of her sitting-room,drew the curtain back, pulled aside the blind, and looked out. The nightwas going to be fine; the sky was clear and starry; the London outsidedrew her. For a moment she thought of telephoning to Garstin to comeout somewhere and dine with her. He was rude to her, seldom paid hera compliment, and never made love to her. But he was famous andinteresting. They could always get on in a tete-a-tete conversation. Andthen there was now that link between them of the living bronze and herplan with which Garstin was connected. She meant to know that man; shemeant it more strongly now that Craven was behaving so strangely. Shedropped the blind, drew the curtains forward, went to the fire, and lita cigarette.

  She wondered where Craven was dining. At some delightful restaurant withsomeone he liked very much. She was quite sure of that; or--perhapshe had told her a lie! Perhaps he was dining at Number 18A, BerkeleySquare! Suddenly she felt certain that she had hit on the truth. Thatwas it! He was dining in Berkeley Square with Adela Sellingworth.They were going to have another evening together. Possessed by thisconviction, and acting on an almost fierce impulse--for her vanity wasnow suffering severely--she went again to the telephone and rang up LadySellingworth. When she was put through, and heard the characteristichusky voice of her so-called friend at the other end of the line, shebegged Lady Sellingworth to come and dine at Claridge's that night andhave a quiet talk over things. As she had expected, she got arefusal. Lady Sellingworth was engaged. Miss Van Tuyn, with a discreethalf-question, half-expression of disappointment, elicited the factthat Lady Sellingworth was dining out, not having people at home. Theconversation concluded at both ends with charming expressions of regret,and promises to be together as soon as was humanly possible.

  Again Miss Van Tuyn believed an excuse; again her instinct told her thatshe had invited someone to dine who was glad to be engaged. There wasonly one explanation of the two happy refusals. She was now absolutelypositive that Lady Sellingworth and Craven were going to dine together,and not in Berkeley Square, and Craven was going to be the host, as hehad said. He had invited Lady Sellingworth to go out and dine somewherealone with him, and she had consented to do so. Where would they go? Shethought of the _Bella Napoli_. It was very unlikely that they wouldmeet anyone there whom they both knew, and they had met at the _BellaNapoli_. Perhaps they--or perhaps _she_--had romantic recollectionsconnected with it! Perhaps they had arranged the other evening todine there again--and without Beryl Van Tuyn this time! If so, theintervention at the telephone must have seemed an ironic stroke to themboth.

  For a moment Miss Van Tuyn's injured vanity made her feel as if theywere involved in a plot directed against her and her happiness, as ifthey had both behaved abominably to her. She had always been so charmingto Lady Sellingworth, had always praised her, had taken her part, hadeven had quite a cult for her! It was very disgusting. It showed MissVan Tuyn how right she had been in generally cultivating men insteadof women. For, of course, Craven could not get out of things with anexperienced rusee woman of the world like Adela Sellingworth. Women ofthat type always knew how to "corner" a man, especially if he were youngand had decent instincts. Poor Craven!

  But at the telephone Miss Van Tuyn had felt that Craven was glad to beengaged that evening, that he was looking forward to something.

  After sitting still for a few minutes, always with the tell-tale line inher forehead, Miss Van Tuyn got up with an air of purpose. She went to adoor at the end of the sitting-room, opened it, crossed a lobby, openeddouble doors, and entered a bedroom in which a large, mild-lookingwoman, with square cheeks, chestnut-coloured smooth hair, large,chestnut-coloured eyes under badly painted eyebrows, and a mouth withteeth that suggested a very kind and well-meaning rabbit, was lyingin bed with a cup and a pot of camomile tea beside her, and Bourget's"_Mensonges_" in her hand. This was Fanny Cronin, originally fromPhiladelphia, but now largely French in a simple and unpretending way.The painted eyebrows must not be taken as evidence against her. Theywere the only artificiality of which Miss Cronin was guilty; and as anunkind fate had absolutely denied her any eyebrows of her own, she hadconceived it only decent to supply their place.

  "I've got back to '_Mensonges_,' Beryl," she said, as she saw Miss VanTuyn. "After all, there's nothing like it. It bites right into one, evenon a third reading."

  "Dear old Fanny! I'm so glad you're being bitten into. I know how youlove it, and I'm not going to disturb you. I only came to tell you thatI'm going out this evening, and may possibly come back late."

  "I hope you will enjoy yourself, dear, and meet pleasant people."

  Miss Cronin was thoroughly well trained, and seldom asked any questions.She had long ago been carefully taught that the duty of a _dame decompagnie_ consisted solely in being alive in a certain place--the placeselected for her by the person she was _dame de compagnie_ to. It was,after all, an easy enough profession so long as a beneficent Providencepermitted your heart to beat and your lungs to function. The placeat present was Claridge's Hotel. She had nothing to do except tolie comfortably in bed there. And this small feat, well within hercompetence, she was now accomplishing with complete satisfaction toherself. She took a happy sip of her camomile tea and added:

  "But I know you always do that. You have such a wide choice and are soclever in selection."

  Miss Van Tuyn slightly frowned.

  "There isn't such a wide choice in London as there is in Paris," shesaid rather morosely.

  "I dare say not. Paris is much smaller than London, but much cleverer,I think. Where would you find an author like Bourget among the English?Which of _them_ could have written '_Mensonges_'? Which of _them_could--"

  "I know, dear, I know! They haven't the bite. That is what you mean.They have only the bark."

  "Exactly! And when one sits down to a book--"

  "Just so, dear. The dog that can only bark is a very dull dog. I saw awonderful dog the other day that looked as if it could bite."

  "Indeed! In London?"

  "Yes. But I'm sure it wasn't English."

  "Was it a poodle?"

  "No, quite the contrary."

  Fanny Cronin looked rather vague. She was really trying to think whatdog was quite the contrary of a poodle, but, after the Channel, her mindwas unequal to the effort. So she took another sip of the camomile teaand said:

  "What colour was it?"

  "It was all brown like a brown bronze. Well, good night, Fanny."

  "Good night, dear. I really wish you would read '_Mensonges_' again whenI have finished with it. One cannot read over these masterpieces toooften."

  "You shall lend it me."

  She went out of the room, and Fanny Cronin settled comfortably down oncemore to the competent exercise of her profession.

  It was now nearly eight o'clock. Miss Van Tuyn went to her bedroom. Shehad a maid with her, but she did not ring for the woman. Instead sheshut her door, and began to "do" things for herself. She began by takingoff her gown and putting on a loose wrapper. Then she sat down beforethe dressing-table and changed the way in which her corn-coloured hairwas done, making it sit much closer to the he
ad than before, and lookmuch less striking and conspicuous. The new way of doing her hairchanged her appearance considerably, made her less like a Ceres and morelike a Puritan. When she was quite satisfied with her hair she got outof her wrapper, and presently put on an absolutely plain black coat andskirt, a black hat which came down very low on her forehead, a blackveil and black suede gloves. Then she took a tightly furled umbrellawith an ebony handle out of her wardrobe, picked up her purse, unlockedher door and stepped out into the lobby.

  Her French maid appeared from somewhere. She was a rather elderly womanwith a clever, but not unpleasantly subtle, face. Miss Van Tuyn said afew words to her in a low voice, opened the lobby door and went out.

  She took the lift, glided down, walked slowly and carelessly across thehall and passed out by the swing door.

  "A taxi, madam?" said the commissionaire in livery.

  She shook her head and walked away down Brook Street in the direction ofGrosvenor Square.

  As Craven had predicted it was a fine clear night, dry underfoot, starryoverhead. If Miss Van Tuyn had had with her a chosen companion she wouldhave enjoyed her walk. She was absolutely self-possessed, and thoroughlycapable of taking care of herself. No terrors of London affected herspirit. But she was angry and bored at being alone. She felt almostfor the first time in her life neglected and even injured. And she wasdetermined to try to find out whether her strong suspicions about LadySellingworth and Craven were well founded. If really Craven was givinga dinner somewhere, and Lady Sellingworth was dining with friendssomewhere else, she had no special reason for irritation. She mightpossibly be mistaken in her unpleasant conviction that both of them hadsomething to do which they preferred to dining with her. But if theywere dining together and alone she would know exactly how things werebetween them. For neither of them had done what would surely have beenthe natural thing to do if there were no desire for concealment; neitherof them had frankly stated the truth about the dinner.

  "If they are dining together they don't wish me to know it," Miss VanTuyn said to herself, as she walked along Grosvenor Square and turneddown Carlos Place. "For if I had known it they might have felt obligedto invite me to join them, as I was inviting them, and as I was the onewho introduced Adela Sellingworth to the _Bella Napoli_."

  And as she remembered this she felt more definitely injured. For she hadtaken a good deal of trouble to persuade Lady Sellingworth to dine outin Soho, had taken trouble about the food and about the music, had, infact, done everything that was possible to make the evening entertainingand delightful to her friend. It was even she, by the way, who hadbeckoned Craven to their table and had asked him to join them afterdinner.

  And in return for all this Adela Sellingworth had carried him off, andperhaps to-night was dining with him alone at the _Bella Napoli_!

  "These old beauties are always the most unscrupulous women in theworld," thought Miss Van Tuyn, as she came into Berkeley Square. "Theynever know when to stop. They are never satisfied. It's bad enough to bewith a greedy child, but it's really horrible to have much to do with agreedy old person. I should never have thought that Adela Sellingworthwas like this."

  It did not occur to her that perhaps some day she would be an old beautyherself, and even then would perhaps still want a few pleasures and joysto make life endurable to her.

  In passing through Berkeley Square she deliberately walked on the leftside of it, and presently came to the house where Lady Sellingworthlived. The big mansion was dark. As Miss Van Tuyn went by it she feltan access of ill-humour, and for an instant she knew something ofthe feeling which had often come to its owner--the feeling of beingabandoned to loneliness in the midst of a city which held multitudes whowere having a good time.

  She walked on towards Berkeley, thought of Piccadilly, retraced hersteps, turned up Hay Hill, crossed Bond Street, and eventually came intoRegent Street. There were a good many people here, and several loiteringmen looked hard at her. But she walked composedly on, keeping at an evensteady pace. At the main door of the Cafe Royal three or four men werelounging. She did not look at them as she went by. But presently shefelt that she was being followed. This did not disturb her. She oftenwent out alone in Paris on foot, though not at night, and was accustomedto being followed. She knew perfectly well how to deal with impertinentmen. In Shaftesbury Avenue the man who was dogging her footsteps camenearer, and presently, though she did not turn her head, she knew thathe was walking almost level with her, and that his eyes were fixedsteadily on her. Without altering her pace she took a shilling out ofthe purse she was carrying and held it in her hand. The man drew up tillhe was walking by her side. She felt that he was going to speak to her.She stopped, held out the hand with the shilling in it, and said:

  "Here's a shilling! Take it. I'm sorry I can't afford more than that."

  As she finished speaking for the first time she looked at her pursuer,and met the brown eyes of the living bronze. He stood for an instantgazing at her veil, and then turned round and walked away in thedirection of Regent Street. The shilling dropped from her hand to thepavement. She did not try to find it, but at once went on.

  It was very seldom that her self-possession was shaken. It was notexactly shaken now. But the recognition of the stranger whom she hadbeen thinking about in the man who had followed her in the streethad certainly startled her. For a moment a strong feeling of disgustovercame her, and she thought of Garstin's brutal comment upon this man.Was he then really one of the horrible night loungers who abound inall great cities, one of the night birds who come out when the darknessfalls with vague hopes of doing evil to their own advantage? It waspossible. He must have been hanging about near the door of the CafeRoyal when she passed and watching the passers-by. He must have seen herthen. Could he have recognized her? In that case perhaps he was merelyan adventurous fellow who had been pushed to the doing of an impertinentthing by his strong admiration of her. As she thought this she happenedto be passing a lit-up shop, a tobacconist's, which had mirrors fixed oneach side of the window. She stopped and looked into one of the mirrors.No, he could not have recognized her through the veil she was wearing.She felt certain of that. But he might have been struck by her figure.He might have noticed it that night at the Cafe Royal, have fancied herecognized it to-night, and have followed her because he was curious toknow whether, or not, she was the girl he had already seen and admired.And of course, as she was walking in Regent Street alone at night, hemust have thought her a girl who would not mind being spoken to. It washer own fault for being so audacious, so determined always to do whatshe wanted to do, however unconventional, even outrageous--according tocommonplace ideas--it was.

  She forgave the man his impertinence and smiled as she thought of hisabrupt departure. If he were really a night bird he would surely havestood his ground. He would not have been got rid of so easily. No; hewould probably have coolly pocketed the shilling, and then have enteredinto conversation with her, have chaffed her vulgarly about her methodswith admirers, and have asked her to go to a cafe or somewhere with him,and to spend the shilling and other shillings in his company.

  No doubt he had been waiting for a friend at the door of the Cafe Royal,had seen her go by, and had yielded to an impulse prompting him to anadventure. He was not an Englishman or an American. She felt certainof that. And she knew very well the views many foreigners, especiallyLatins, even of good birth hold about the propriety of showing theiradmiration for women in the street.

  She was glad she had had a thick veil on. If later she made acquaintancewith this man, she did not wish him to know that she and the girl whohad offered him a shilling were one and the same. If he knew she mightbe at a certain disadvantage with him.

  She turned into Soho and was immediately conscious of a slightlydifferent atmosphere. There were fewer people about and the street wasnot so brightly lit up, or at any rate seemed to her darker. She heardvoices speaking Italian in the shadows. The lights of small restaurantsglimmered faintly on the bone-dry pavement. She was
nearing the _BellaNapoli_. Soon she heard the distant sound of guitars.

  Where she was walking at this moment there was no one. She stood stillfor an instant considering. If Lady Sellingworth and Craven were reallydining together, as she suspected, and at the _Bella Napoli_, she couldsee them from the street if they had a table near the window. If theywere not seated near the window she might not be able to see them. Inthat case, what was she going to do?

  After a moment's thought she resolved that if she did not see them fromthe street she would go into the restaurant and dine there alone. Theywould see her of course, if they were there, and would no doubt besurprised and decidedly uncomfortable. But that could not be helped.Having come so far she was determined not to go back to the hotelwithout making sure whether her suspicion was correct. If, on the otherhand, they were dining at a table near the window she resolved not toenter the restaurant.

  Having come to this decision she walked on.

  The musicians were playing "O Sole mio!" And as the music grew moredistinct in her ears she felt more solitary, more injured and moreill-humoured. Music of that type makes youth feel that the world oughtof right to belong to it, that the old are out of place in the regionsof adventure, romance and passion. That they should not hang about wherethey are no longer wanted, like beggars about the door of a house inwhich happy people are feasting.

  "Such music is for me not for Adela Sellingworth," thought Miss VanTuyn. "Let her listen to Bach and Beethoven, or to Brahms if she likes.She can have the classics and the intellectuals. But the songs of Naplesare for me, not for her."

  And at that moment she felt very hard, even cruel.

  She came up to the restaurant. The window was lighted up brilliantly. Noblind was drawn over it. There was opaque glass at the bottom, but notat the top. She was tall and could look through the glass at the top.She did so, and at once saw Lady Sellingworth and Craven.

  They were sitting at _her_ table--the table which was always reservedfor her when she dined at the _Bella Napoli_, and at which she hadentertained Lady Sellingworth; and they were talking--confidentially,eagerly, she thought. Lady Sellingworth looked unusually happy andanimated, even perhaps a little younger than usual. Yes! Very old, butyounger than usual! They were not eating at the moment, but were nodoubt waiting for a course. Craven was leaning forward to his companion.The guitars still sounded. But these two had apparently so much to sayto one another that they had neither time or inclination to listen tothe music.

  Miss Van Tuyn stood very still on the pavement staring into therestaurant.

  But suddenly Craven, as if attracted by something, turned abruptly halfround towards the window. Instantly Miss Van Tuyn moved away. He couldnot have seen her. But perhaps he had felt that she--or rather of coursethat someone--was there. For he could not possibly have felt that she,Beryl Van Tuyn, was there looking in.

  After drawing back Miss Van Tuyn walked slowly away. She was consideringsomething, debating something within herself. Should she go in and dinealone in the restaurant? By doing so she would certainly make those twowho had treated her badly uncomfortable; she would probably spoilthe rest of their evening. Should she do that? Some indelicate devilprompted her, urged her, to do it. It would "serve them right," shethought. Adela Sellingworth especially deserved a touch of the whip. Butit would be an undignified thing to do. They would never know of coursewhy she had come alone to the _Bella Napoli_! They would think that,being audaciously unconventional, she had just drifted in there becauseshe had nothing else to do, as Craven had drifted in alone the othernight. She wanted to do it. Yet she hesitated to do it.

  Finally she gave up the idea. She felt malicious, but she could notquite make up her mind to dine alone where they would see her. Probablythey would feel obliged to ask her to join them. But she would not jointhem. Nothing could induce her to do that. And was she to come over tothem when coffee was brought, as Craven had come at her invitation?No; that would be a condescension unworthy of her beauty and youth. Herfierce vanity forbade it, even though her feeling of malice told her todo it.

  Her vanity won. She walked on and came into Shaftesbury Avenue.

  "I know what I'll do," she said to herself. "I'll go and dine upstairsat the Cafe Royal, and go into the cafe downstairs afterwards. Garstinis certain to be there."

  Garstin--and others!

  This time she obeyed her inclination. Not many minutes later she wasseated at a table in a corner of the restaurant at the Cafe Royal, andwas carefully choosing a dinner.