“Thank you!” and she laughed a little, bending her head towards Madame Dimitrius. “Do you hear that, dear lady? Think of it! What good times there are in store for me! If I can only ‘feel’ that they _are_ good!--or even bad!--it would be quite a sensation!” And she flashed a bright look at Dimitrius as he stood watching her almost morosely. “Well!” she said, addressing him, “after the twenty-fourth of June, if I live, and if you permit it, I want to go back to England. Can that be arranged?” “Assuredly! I will find you a chaperone----” “A chaperone!” Her eyes opened widely in surprise and amusement. “Oh, no! I’m quite old enough to travel alone!” “That will not be apparent to the world”--And he smiled again in his dark, reluctant way--“But--we shall see. In any case, if you wish to go to England, you shall be properly escorted.” “And if you go, will you not come back to us?” asked Madame Dimitrius, rather wistfully. “I do not want to part with you altogether!” “You shall not, dear Madame! I will come back.” And she gently kissed the hand she held. “Even Professor Chauvet may want to see me again!” Dimitrius gave her a sharp glance. “That old man is fond of you?” he said, tentatively. “Of course he is!” And she laughed again. “Who would _not_ be fond of me! Excellent Dr. Dimitrius! Few men are so impervious to woman as yourself!” “You think me impervious?” “I think a rock by the sea or block of stone more impressionable!” she replied, merrily. “But that is as it should be. Men of science _must_ be men without feeling,--they could not do their work if they ‘felt’ things.” “I disagree,” said Dimitrius, quickly--“it is just because men of science ‘feel’ the brevity and misery of human life so keenly that they study to alleviate some of its pangs, and spare some of its waste. They seek to prove the Why and the Wherefore of the apparent uselessness of existence----” “Nothing is useless, surely!” put in Diana--“Not even a grain of dust!” “Where is the dust of Carthage?” he retorted--“Of Babylon? Of Nineveh? With what elements has it commingled to make more men as wise, as foolish, as sane, or as mad as the generations passed away? The splendour, the riches, the conquests, the glories of these cities were as great or greater than any that modern civilisation can boast of--and yet--what remains? Dust? And is the dust necessary and valuable? Who can tell! Who knows!” “And with all the mystery and uncertainty, is it not better to trust in God?” said Madame Dimitrius, gently. “Perhaps the little child who says ‘Our Father’ is nearer to Divine Truth than all the science of the world.”