“When do we sail?” said she. Flossie was quite indifferent to the maid. What cared she for the maid’s opinion? And she ignored his glances beseeching that she might be told to go. But Justine herself asked Mrs. Gower demurely if she should not fetch a glass of water, and went of her own accord. “The Parthia sails at six to-night,” said Wemyss. “You will have ample time to rest in Boston, if you wish, dearest.” The expression of affection sounded commonplace; and Wemyss felt that it did, self-consciously. “It is infinitely better we should go from Boston,” he went on; “the Parthia is slow, but that makes no difference; and there is certain to be no one in her we know, at this time of the year. I took the passage in fictitious names, of course.” “What did you do that for?” “I thought you would prefer it,” said he; and made bold to take her hand. “It was very ridiculous and quite unnecessary,” said Flossie, withdrawing it. “When I go to Europe, I am willing all the world should know.” Wemyss did not know just what to say; and fortunately the conductor made his first entry at that juncture. He attended to his business perfunctorily; and it struck Wemyss as curious that he did not note anything unusual about their trip. It seemed to him that all the world must see that he was going to England with her, and that she was not his wife. The newspapers lay unread upon the seat. Mrs. Gower did not care to read them; and Wemyss gave his whole attention to her, as a matter of course. She was looking at the window, watching the familiar landscape fly by; and he began to think how they could pass through Boston with least certainty of being seen. He had had the passenger-list of the steamer telegraphed on the night before; and knew that no acquaintance would be on board; he felt it would be embarrassing to meet an acquaintance, until their position was regularized. When the train had crossed the Harlem River, Wemyss felt as if the Rubicon were passed. But already the feeling of elation, the flattery to his _amour-propre_, began to pass away. There were certain difficulties, even in the Décadence; conventions yet remaining which annoyed him. It had been tacitly agreed between them that when Gower got his divorce, Wemyss was to marry her. In the meantime, he was to escort her to England, where they both had many friends. And Wemyss reassured himself by thinking how these friends had treated similar cases; leniently, he was sure, with result of a not wholly unpleasant notoriety, and even, in the man’s case, of a certain glamour. A little temporary retirement, of course, was fitting enough.