"Yes. He got---- You know what he could be like. Sometimes I thought he was going off his head, and I often wonder if he wasn't a bit touched. . . . I haven't seen him since. I wondered if you had seen him." "No. I haven't seen him. He doesn't come back to me." "Mr. Tysoe hasn't seen him. Cluny has some of his things, but won't say a word. I think he must have left London." "I should think so," said Mendel wearily, suddenly losing all interest. "I should think so." "I've left Hampstead. I'm living over the Pot-au-Feu, I'm working as a model. Don't forget me, and if you hear of Logan, do let me know, and come and have a talk over old times." She had caught sight of an acquaintance smiling at her and went over to him, for all the world, as Mendel thought, like a fly-by-night. He half ran, half staggered out of the place, saying to himself:-- "I must see Morrison. I must see her at once." * * * * * He tried to see her next day, but Clowes told him she had gone to the country. "I insisted on her going, she was looking so pale. You know when she feels lonely she won't eat. When she is miserable she gets so shy that she can't even go into a shop. . . . I have taken a cottage in the country, just outside London. Two rooms, two shillings a week. Isn't it cheap? So I packed her off there two days ago." "When will she be back?" "I don't know. When she is tired of being alone. She said she wanted to be alone." "I want to see her. It is a very important for me to see her." "I won't have you making her ill," said Clowes. "I must see her. Will you give me her address, so that I can write to her?" Clowes gave him the address, and he wrote saying that life was intolerable without her. * * * * * Morrison did not need his letter, and, indeed, it only reached the cottage after she had left. She knew he needed her. Never for an instant was his image absent from her mind, and at night, when she lay awake, she could have sworn she heard a moaning cry from him. No wind ever made a sound like that. There was a pouring rain and a howling wind, but she walked the four miles to the station and sent him a wire telling him to meet her at the station in London. He received it just in time and was on the platform. He took her in his arms and kissed her. "What is the matter?" "Did you get my letter?" "No. But I knew. What is it?" "I don't know. My work, I think. I met Oliver last night. It upset me. But I wanted you for my work. It is like a knife stuck through my brain. I wanted to be with you, just to see you and to hear your voice. Nothing else. That part of me feels dead. . . . Oliver is living over the Pot-au-Feu, where Hetty Finch used to be. I wonder what's become of her. I expect she has found a millionaire by now. . . . We'll have the evening together. We'll dine at the Pot-au-Feu. We might meet Oliver, but I can't think of any other place." "We'll dine with Clowes, if you like." "No; I want to go to the Pot-au-Feu."