When she got back to the great apartment she occupied now, the gray dawn was stealing in through the huge windows and the cold of the change of weather was already in the house. She shivered; and hastened to get dressed. Justine was all ready with a quiet travelling-dress, into which she quickly slipped her girlish figure. She had a moment’s scruple whether she should take away the diamonds--a _rivière_ that Lucie Gower had given her when they were married. But Flossie Gower had far too logical a mind to strain at gnats when she was swallowing a camel; she hastily thrust them in her bosom, and giving the solitary candle to Justine, bade her lead the way down the stairs. This time she wasted no parting looks; after all, the house was hers, though she would leave it to Lucie for a while, for form’s sake. It was already quite light in the street, and Mr. Wemyss was huddled in one corner of the carriage and chattering with cold. He made no reproach, however; and this time he got in beside her, and Justine took the front seat. “Where are we going?” said Mrs. Gower to him. “I thought perhaps you would come--I have a little breakfast ready in my rooms--the train does not go till eight.” He spoke, for the first time we have heard him, with some shadow of embarrassment. “I thought it would be less public,” he explained. “As you like,” said Flossie, indifferently. What did it matter? Her bonnet must yet be thrown over higher wind-mills than was this. They drove across the town in silence. Flossie, at least, had done many things in her life and not known the sickly shadow of repentance yet; what Mr. Wemyss’s thoughts were I cannot say. Justine alone, indeed, was repenting--that she had not known of this before she left the house, and acted on that knowledge. “_Que de choses j’aurais pu prendre avec!_” she thought. “When do we sail?” asked Flossie, languidly. “To-morrow noon,” answered Mr. Wemyss. “The Boston steamer is much the best for us; particularly at this season of the year. They go almost empty, and are not crowded with commercial travellers.” Mrs. Gower’s lip curled slightly: whether at Mr. Wemyss’s refined exclusiveness or for some other reason, we dare not say. And the carriage stopped before his lodgings. Mr. Wemyss got out, and helped his Europa to alight. “You may come up, Justine,” said Flossie to the maid, who had retained her seat demurely.