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Somehow logic could not explain her. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. “If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now. ” They passed out on to the pavement, and the commissionaire called a hansom. Sebastian spotted her among them instantly. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear.
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