When she read those words she laughed out loud. Then she sent for the _New York Herald_ and looked for the Homburg notes. She found Miss Pimpernel Schley’s name among the list of the newest arrivals. That evening she wrote to her husband: “Do not bother about me. Go to Homburg. I need rest and I want to be alone. Perhaps I may go to some quiet place in Switzerland with my maid. I’ll let you know if I leave town. Good-bye. “VIOLA HOLME.” At first she had put only Viola. Then she added the second word. Viola alone suggested an intimacy which no longer existed between her and the man she had married. The next day Lord Holme crossed the Channel. She was left with the servants. Till then she had not been out of the house, but two days afterwards, swathed in a thick veil, she went for a drive in the Park, and on returning from it found Sir Donald on the door-step. He looked frailer than ever and very old. Lady Holme would have preferred to avoid him. Since that interview with her husband the idea of meeting anyone she knew terrified her. But he came at once to help her out of the carriage. Her face was invisible, but he knew her, and he greeted her in a rather shaky voice. She could see that he was deeply moved, and thanked him for his many inquiries. “But why are you still in London?” she said. “You are still in London,” he replied. She was about to say good-bye on the door-step; but he kept her hand in his and said: “Let me come in and speak to you for a moment.” “Very well,” she said. When they were in the drawing-room she still kept the veil over her face, and remained standing. “Sir Donald,” she said, “you cared for me, I know; you were fond of me.” “Were?” he answered. “Yes--were. I am no longer the woman you--other people--cared for.” “If there is any change--” he began. “I know. You are going to say it is not in the woman, the real woman. But I say it is. The change is in what, to men, is the real woman. This change has destroyed any feeling my husband may have had for me.” “It could never destroy mine,” Sir Donald said quietly. “Yes, it could--yours especially, because you are a worshipper of beauty, and Fritz never worshipped anything except himself. I am going to let you say good-bye to me without seeing me. Remember me as I was.” “But--what do you mean? You speak as if you would no longer go into the world.” “I go into the world! You haven’t seen me, Sir Donald.” She saw an expression of nervous apprehension come into his face as he glanced at her veil. “What are you going to do, then?” he said. “I don’t know. I--I want a hiding-place.” She saw tears come into his old, faded eyes. “Hush!” he said. “Don’t-” “A hiding-place. I want to travel a long way off and be quite alone, and think, and see how I can go on, if I can go on.” Her voice was quite steady. “If I could do something--anything for you!” he murmured.