It was a few days after his visit to Brighton, and while he was debating how soon he might venture to call again upon Lady Jennings, and whether he should find Rachel there if he did, when he saw, one afternoon in Bond Street, a victoria waiting outside a shop. Leaning back in it was a beautifully dressed woman whom he recognized, even before he got near enough to see her face, as Rachel Davison. She was dressed in écru-colored lace over pale pink, and her sunshade matched her gown. A hat of pale pink with écru-colored outstanding feathers completed an elaborate and handsome toilet. Gerard was suddenly convinced, as he had not been before, that it was she, and no other, whom he had met, in the shabby frock and battered hat, that night in the crowd. He went up to the side of the carriage and raised his hat, feeling, as he did so, as if the excitement and the suspicions he felt must be discernible in his looks. It seemed to him that she looked startled on seeing him, and that her manner was rather more reserved and distant than there appeared to be any reason for. He was sure that she had not recognized him that night in the crowd; and the only thing he could think of to account for her coolness was that perhaps her mother had spoken or written to her about his call, and Lady Jennings about his visit to her, so that the girl had begun to wonder whether he was playing the spy upon her movements. It seemed to him as he greeted her and she bowed to him, not holding out her hand, that she looked paler than ever. Her natural complexion was colorless, a fact which added, in his eyes, to her exquisite charm and air of extreme refinement. But now he thought it was almost ghastly; and though he told himself that this might be due either to the effect of the pink dress she wore, or to the effect of the season’s gayeties and other exertions, he asked himself whether it was not more probably the result of intense nervous strain. The elaborate deceit of the life she led, whatever her motives might be, must, he thought, be exhausting and depressing even to the most splendid vitality. “Have you seen anything of the Aldingtons lately?” he asked, by way of something to say which should lead to no awkwardness in replying. “Nothing whatever. I am so busy that I really haven’t time to go and see them, and I don’t know what I shall say when I do to excuse myself.” “They will take any excuse, rather than not have the pleasure of seeing you,” suggested Gerard. “I’m sure that would be their feeling, as it would be mine.” “Well, I shall be going away in a week or two, and I shan’t be able to get to Bayswater before then, I’m quite sure. Besides, I fancy they always go up the river in the summer, and shut up the London house altogether.” “Have you been in town all the season?” asked Gerard. And against his will he felt that there was a look in his face, a tone in his voice, which betrayed more than he wished her to know.