“You’re not looking well, my dear,” said Lydia quite affectionately. “Marriage doesn’t seem to agree with you. What’s the matter?” Olivia flashed: “Nothing’s the matter.” “How’s your husband?” “Very well.” This was intolerable. She strained her eyes for the little red flag of freedom. Then, as she had told her visitor of a day or two before: “He’s gone abroad—on important business.” “And not taken you with him?” “His business isn’t ordinary business,” she said instinctively. Then she recognized she was covering him with his own cloak. Her pale cheeks flushed. “So that’s it,” said Lydia smiling. “You’re a poor little grass widow. You want bucking up, my dear. A bit of old times. Come and do a dinner and a theatre with us. Sydney would love to see you again. We’ll steer clear of naughty old Mavenna——” She had to stop; for Olivia had rushed across the pavement and was holding up her little embroidered bag at arm’s length, and the Heaven-sent taxi was drawing up to the kerb. Lydia followed her and stood while she entered the cab. “You’ll come, won’t you, dear?” “I’ll telephone,” said Olivia. She put out a hand. “Good-bye. It has been so pleasant seeing you again.” Lydia shook hands and smiled in her prosperous, contented way. Then she said: “Where shall he drive to?” Olivia had not given the matter a thought. She reflected swiftly. If she said “Home,” Lydia would suspect her eagerness to escape. After all, she didn’t want to hurt Lydia’s feelings. She cried at random: “Marlborough Road, St. John’s Wood.” “What a funny place for a dentist to live,” said Lydia. Anyhow, it was over. She was alone in the taxi, which was proceeding northwards up Bond Street. Of all people in the world Lydia was the one she least had desired to meet. Dinner and Revue. Possibly supper and a dance afterwards! Back again to where she had started little over a year ago. She suddenly became aware of herself shrieking with laughter. In horror, she stopped short, and felt a clattering shock all through her frame, like a car going at high speed when, at the instant of danger, all the brakes are suddenly applied. She lay back on the cushions, panting. Her brow was moist. She put up her hand and found a wisp of hair sticking to her temples. The cab went on. Where was she? Where was she going? She looked out of the window and recognized Regent’s Park. Then she remembered her wildly-given destination. She put her head through the window. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said to the driver. “Go to Buckingham Palace Mansions.” * * * * * The next morning came a letter from Lydia on expensive primrose note-paper. Would Friday be convenient? Sydney and herself would call for her at seven. There was a postscript: “I hope the St. John’s Wood dentist didn’t hurt you too much.” It gave her an idea. She replied: “So sorry. The St. John’s Wood dentist has made it impossible for me to appear in public for at least a month.”