She rose and walked on again; she turned out of the gardens and found herself in a street of shops. People looked at her curiously. Hardly knowing that she did so, she stopped and looked in at a jeweller's window; there were trays of precious stones. She felt her own ring beneath the glove--she had worn it so long now, she wondered how she would feel when she had to take it off. Of course, she could not go on wearing it if Raymond was really married. Micky had once gone into a pond on a bitter night to save a kitten from drowning; she wondered what made her remember that. The man who could save a drowning kitten would never hurt a woman so that she could hardly think or feel; June had claimed for Micky that he was the best man in the world. "But I don't believe in him--I don't believe anything he says," Esther told herself feverishly; she moved on again away from the trays of flashing diamonds. Two girls passing her were chattering in French--Esther looked after them vaguely. This was really Paris--this rather noisy, confusing place; the Paris she had longed to see. A man passing stared at her, half stopped, went on again, then turned, paused irresolutely, and finally came back. He walked quickly till he drew abreast with her, and there was a curious eagerness in his face as he stooped a little to look down at hers; then he gave an exclamation of sheer amazement. "Lallie! Good heavens! What in the world are you doing here?" It was Raymond Ashton. CHAPTER XXX And so the dream had come true after all, and she and Raymond were together in Paris. As she looked up into his handsome face it seemed to Esther that all the past hours of grief were as if they had never really existed; he was smiling down at her in the same old way; the very tone of his voice awoke forgotten memories in her heart; she felt as if a gnawing pain which had allowed her no rest had suddenly been lulled to sleep. "I thought it must be you," Raymond was saying nervously. "And yet I could not be sure. Somehow I never thought of you and Paris as being in any way compatible, and yet----" He broke off; it had been on the tip of his tongue to say that she had never looked sweeter or more desirable. His overwhelming conceit suddenly woke the wish in his heart to know if she still cared, or if she had forgotten him, and a little flush crossed his face and his eyes grew tender as they met the tragedy of hers; he looked hastily round. "We can't talk here. Will you come to a café? There is so much I should like to say to you. When did you come over? What are you doing here?" They were walking slowly along, the man's head bent ardently towards her. He had once told Micky that this girl was the only woman he had ever loved, and perhaps it was right--as he accounted love. He took her to a café--one where there would be nobody likely to recognise him; he ordered coffee and biscuits.