Would, he thought within himself, that he could leave the town for ever! He had arranged with the woman into whose hands he had given himself unreservedly, providing that she placed him in a position to overthrow his enemies, that she should write to him at his club, the Carlton; but as the weeks crept on and he received no letter he began to be uneasy at her silence. In the _Morning Post_ he had noticed two lines in the fashionable intelligence, which ran as follows: "Sir Henry and Lady Meldrum with Miss Muriel Mortimer have left Green Street for the Continent." The announcement was vague, but purposely so, he thought. He tried to calm himself by plunging with redoubled energy into the daily political struggle. Claudia after leaving the castle had gone to Paris with her almost inseparable friend, the Duchess of Penarth, gowns being the object of the visit. _Hors de Paris_, _hors du monde_ was Claudia's motto always. They usually went over together, without male encumbrances, twice or three times yearly, stayed at the Athenee, and spent the greater part of their time in the _ateliers_ of Doeuillet and Paquin, or shopping in the Vendome quarter, that little area of the gay city so dear to the feminine heart. The visit had lasted a fortnight, and Claudia was back again at Albert Gate. She had sent him a brief note announcing her arrival, but he had not called, for, truth to tell, because of the fresh development springing from Muriel Mortimer's policy he felt unable to continue his fervent protestations of love. The web of complications was drawing round him more tightly every moment. He tried to struggle against it, but the feeble effort was utterly hopeless. One evening, however, he accepted, under absolute compulsion, her invitation to dine. In that handsome, well-remembered room, with its snowy cloth, its shining glass, its heavy plate and big silver epergne of hot-house flowers, he sat with her _tete-a-tete_, listening to the story of her visit to the French capital, her account of the pretty evening gowns which were on their way to her--new and exclusive "models" for which she had been compelled to pay terribly dear--all about her meeting with the old Comtesse de Montigny while driving in the Avenue des Acacias, and the warm invitation, which she had accepted, to the latter's _salon_, one of the most exclusive in all Paris. Moreover, she and the Duchess had dined one evening with Madame Durand, one of her old companions at the pension at Enghien, and now wife of the newly appointed Minister of the Interior. Yes, in Paris she had, as usual, a most enjoyable time. And how had he fared? As Jackson, the solemn-faced and rather pompous butler, who had been in poor Dick Nevill's service for a good many years, was pouring out his wine, he hesitated to speak confidentially until he had left.