"But look here, Miss Oliphant," he was saying. "Jennie's going to lie down this afternoon; won't you let me take you for a walk? Let's go to Léhon or somewhere. You don't mind, do you, Jennie? And"--he laughed, perfectly conscious of his charming and irresistible impudence--"it seems awfully stiff to go on calling you Miss Oliphant! Sounds so fearfully high-and-dry! Oh, I know! Shocking scandal! But if you'll come for a walk with me----" He twinkled. Jennie had not uttered a word. Nor had she eaten more than a few crumbs. Suddenly she got up. "I'm going to lie down now," she said. Then, turning timidly to Julia, "Can you come with me for just a minute--Julia?" Julia got instantly up, passed round the table, and preceded her into the hotel. Other lunchers also were astir. The party of visitors who had usurped our table were settling up with the waiter. Derry and I sat awaiting Julia's return. Alec and Madge, at the neighbouring table, seemed to have finished their talk. I did not know what Alec's announcement to her had been. What she had said to him I thought I could guess. Suddenly, after an absence of barely five minutes, Julia reappeared. She walked straight up to Madge and held out her hand. "What?" I heard Madge's surprised exclamation. "But I thought----" "----by the boat, I think ... ever so much ... delightful...." She shook hands with them and crossed over to us. She looked straight into Derry's face. We were all standing. The five or six words she spoke were as if she was telling those beads again. Each one was isolated, bright, lingering yet relentlessly passing, a thank-offering, a prayer---- "So--long--Derry--dear ... all--the--best," she said, her hand in his. "Good-bye--Julia," he said, smiling. She walked away. I caught her up in front of the hotel. Little groups of people moved across the lime-shaded Square, all in one direction, seeking the Porches and the Lainerie, leaving themselves comfortable time for the vedette. We followed them. She did not take my arm, neither did any word pass between us. Under the Porches, past the Convent we went. The groups of people became more frequent as they concentrated from various luncheon-places. We dropped down the steep astounding street that is called Jerzual. We were nearly at the Porte, of which the twelfth-century portion is the modern part, before she opened her lips. "I hate people who cry," she said suddenly. Then she closed her lips again. I supposed she meant Jennie. I didn't answer. She only spoke once more. This was at the embarcadère, as she stepped on to the vedette. "Don't wait," she said. "I suppose I shall be seeing you in London some time." Obediently I turned away. IV