That night it seemed to her that she would have all her meals served in the little sitting-room, and never go downstairs at all, lest she should meet him. But in the morning she perceived that one does not save up one's money for a year in order to have a Continental holiday, and sweeten all one's High-school teaching with one thought of that holiday, in order to spend its precious hours between four walls, just because--well, for any reason whatsoever. So she went down to take her coffee and rolls humbly, publicly, like other people. The dining-room was dishevelled, discomposed; chairs piled on tables and brooms all about. It was in the hotel _cafe_, where the marble-topped little tables were, that Mademoiselle would be served. Here was a marble-topped counter, too, where later in the day _aperitifs_ and _petits verres_ would be handed. On this, open for the police to read, lay the list of those who had spent the night at the "Panier d'Or." The room was empty. Elizabeth caught up the list. Yes, his name was there, at the very top of the column--Edward Brown, and below it "_Mrs. Brown_--" Elizabeth dropped the paper as though it had bitten her, and, turning sharply, came face to face with that very Edward Brown. He raised his hat gravely, and a shiver of absolute sickness passed over her, for his glance at her in passing was the glance of a stranger. It was not possible.... Yet it was true. He had forgotten her. In three little years! They had been long enough years to her, but now she called them little. In three little years he had forgotten her very face. Elizabeth, chin in air, marched down the room and took possession of the little table where her coffee waited her. She began to eat. It was not till the sixth mouthful that her face flushed suddenly to so deep a crimson that she dared not raise her eyes to see how many of the folk now breaking their rolls in her company had had eyes for her face. As a matter of fact, only one observed the sudden colour, and he admired and rejoiced, for he had seen such a colour in that face before. "She is angry--good!" said he, and poured out more coffee with a steady hand. The thought that flooded Elizabeth's face and neck and ears with damask was one quite inconsistent with the calm eating of bread-and-butter. She laid down her knife and walked out, chin in air to the last. Alone in her sitting-room she buried her face in a hard cushion and went as near to swearing as a very nice girl may. "Oh! oh! oh!--oh! _bother!_ Why did I go down? I ought to have fled to the uttermost parts of the earth: or even to Ghent. Of course. Oh, what a fool I am! It's because he's married that he won't speak to me. You fool! you fool! you fool! Yes, of course, you knew he was married; only you thought you'd like the silly satisfaction of hearing his voice speak to you, and yours speaking to him. But--oh! fool! fool! fool!"