She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief; they felt hot and burning. She looked at herself anxiously in the little mirror--such a white face; she turned away impatiently. Twelve o'clock; there was a train up to town at half-past, she knew. The confusion in her brain seemed to have passed all at once; she felt quite calm and clear. She would go to Paris--she would see Raymond, and hear from his own lips what a lie it was. She ought to have gone before. She had been a fool to listen to Micky; of course he would not wish her to go. She put a few things into a bag. She took the last letter she had had from Raymond, and kissed it before thrusting it back into her dress; she scribbled a pencil note to June and fastened it to the pincushion. With the little suit-case in her hand she went downstairs and out into the street. There was nobody about, and she almost ran to the station. The porter who had witnessed her meeting yesterday with Micky stared at her wonderingly. The London train was due now, he told her. She'd have to hurry.... She was gone before he finished his slow speech. She found an empty carriage and got in, sitting as far away from the door as possible in case any one should come along the platform and recognize her. It was only when the train started away that she leaned back and closed her eyes. "I am going to Paris; I can't live without him any longer. Please don't worry." Over and over she found herself repeating these words in her brain. She wondered where she had heard them and what they really meant. "I am going to Paris; I can't live without him any longer." They were true anyway. She was going to Paris because she felt she could no longer live without Raymond. She opened her eyes with a little gasp; they were her own words. She remembered that she had written them in the note she had left on the pincushion for June. Poor June! She would be angry. And Micky.... A little throb touched her heart. She had not been very kind to Micky. She hoped he would soon forget her. Her eyes closed again. How long did it take to get to Paris? She had not the least idea. She had not got much money with her; she tried to remember how much, but somehow her brain refused to act; she took out her purse and tipped its contents into her lap. She started to count it, but after a moment she gave it up with a helpless feeling and put it all back again. "Tubby Clare's little widow...." Who was Tubby Clare? she wondered. She laughed foolishly. What a name! But he had left his widow a great deal of money, and money was everything nowadays. Nobody could be happy without money; Raymond had told her that months ago; a man with money has the whole world at his feet, so he had said. She thought of Micky--he was one of the richest men in London, and yet he was not happy. She had never thought that he looked happy; she wondered if it was really because he loved her.