“She was going to drive back home when Rahas ran out of the hotel, told her the fact was I was ill in England, was dying to see her, and had sent him to bring her over by a trick, since I knew her husband would not let her come. Nouna was worked upon so much by this, that, as they had driven to the Gare du Nord, and were just in time for the Calais train, she decided on the impulse of the moment to come, but insisted on travelling in the ladies’ compartment of the train, and in the ladies’ cabin on board, so that he saw very little of her on the journey, until they got to Charing Cross, where she got into a hansom by herself, and refused to come into my house until Sundran went out to reassure her. Apparently, Mr. Lauriston, marriage had not increased her trust in human nature.” “It has taught her to discriminate, madam.” “I was not up. She was taken into my boudoir, and I dressed and went to see her. She was standing just inside the door, waiting; she was flushed, and trembling, and so weak with fatigue and excitement that she almost fell into my arms. But then--” Chloris stopped. Something in these vivid memories was keenly painful to her. “She knew--you were her mother?” said George in a low voice. Chloris, who had related her story standing so that he could only see her side-face, turned the full gaze of her black eyes upon him defiantly. “Well, take what pride in it you like, she drew back from my arms, and looked at me, and the colour went out of her face, and left her quite white, with dark rings under her eyes, and she asked, in a weak whisper: ‘Are you really my mother?’ Perhaps I looked angry and spoke harshly; I thought of you, and how you had poisoned her mind against me, and she ran to the door with a wild, scared face, and cried: ‘George! Where is George?’ And she glanced round the room like a caged bird, and fell down crying on to the floor. So I left her, for I saw you had taken her from me altogether, and Sundran went to her and made her bathe and rest, and she wrote out a telegram to you, and fell asleep crying. When I saw her again she was quite meek and subdued, and sat with me very quietly, not talking, but looking at me with wondering, inquiring eyes that haunt me. For I tell you I have loved my child, and it was hard to find that she had no heart left for me. Then I was sorry that I--sorry that she had come; and when I learnt what had happened to you, I was angry, furiously angry with Rahas, and I would not let him come near the house, and I did not know what to do with the child. She could not be happy with me--you had spoilt her for that. I gave her a beautiful dress I had had made, and she said: ‘I will wear it when George comes.’ She would not meet my friends, and I did not press her; she did just as she liked, and took walks with Sundran instead of driving with me. And on the third morning she was gone. Her bed had not been slept in, and the footman said she had gone out late the night before.