It was five o’clock in the afternoon. Minna threw herself down on a couch and turned over the pages of a novel. She had just returned from a solitary drive in the Park, where she had not seen one familiar face. She hated London. It recalled a past life of miseries. The novel fell to the ground as she went over the tale of them, counted for the fiftieth time since her arrival, two days before. She had seen no one but Mrs. Delamere. In a moment of utter boredom, a vestige of gratitude had suggested a visit to the Bebros. But she could not face the ghosts of the horrors of that house. The sight of the dull, coarse, kindly faces would put back the hand of time, and set her again among the devils. A faint back-wash of the old hysteria met her at the thought. So she remained in solitary state in the gorgeous hotel, chafing at its dulness. Presently she rose and walked with aimless unrest about the room. She rang for her maid. “Go downstairs and get me a couple of stalls for the Haymarket this evening.” The neat French girl retired with the order. Minna went to the window and drummed against the pane, gazing abstractedly at the busy embankment crossing just below, the train creeping over Hungerford Bridge, the flaring posters against the Avenue Theatre. “How hateful everything is,” she said to herself. But she remained by the window for occupation’s sake. Then Justine, the maid, entered. There were no stalls. They had telephoned. If Mademoiselle would like a box---- “Oh, yes,” said her mistress, irritably. “That will do.” She had invited Mrs. Delamere to dinner and theatre. An irrational impulse of politeness had caused her to leave to her guest the choice of entertainment. Mrs. Delamere had expressed a desire to see a much talked-of piece at the Haymarket before her expatriation. Minna had a foreboding of depression. The Empire or the Gaiety would have better suited her mood; also a bottle of champagne afterwards in the company of some amusing men. As the prospect interested her but slightly, she had characteristically delayed to get tickets till the last moment. She looked at her watch. Half-past five. She waited by the window until Justine returned with the box-tickets. “I’ll come and dress,” said Minna; “it will be something to do.” “It is true that one does not amuse oneself in London,” said Justine, answering the implication. “It is the most odious place on the earth; I sigh for Nice.” “I also, Mademoiselle. But Nice will be dull when we return.”. “We’ll shut up the villa and go to Aix-les-Bains for the Russian season.” “I adore the Russians,” cried Justine with conviction. “Have you known many?” asked Minna sarcastically. “When one knows one thoroughly, one knows them all,” said Justine.