But although Edna had greatly enjoyed the Italian journey, it came to an end at last, and it was with feelings of satisfaction that she settled down again in Paris.  Here she was in the centre of things, ready for news, ready for arrivals, ready to go anywhere or do anything that might be necessary, and, more than that, there was a delightful consciousness that she had seen something of Switzerland and Italy, and without having missed a telegram by being away.

The party did not return to the Hotel Boileau.  Edna now had a much better idea of the Continental menage than she had brought with her from America, and she believed that she had not been living up to the standard that Captain Horn had desired.  She wished in every way to conform to his requests, and one of these had been that she should consider the money he had sent her as income, and not as property.  It was hard for her to fulfil this injunction, for her mind was as practical as that of Mrs. Cliff, and she could not help considering the future, and the probability of never receiving an addition to the funds she now had on deposit in London and Paris.  But her loyalty to the man who had put her into possession of that money was superior to her feelings of prudence and thrift.  When he came to Paris, he should find her living as he wanted her to live.  It was not necessary to spend all she had, but, whether he came back poor or rich, he should see that she had believed in him and in his success.

The feeling of possible disaster had almost left her.  The fears that had come to her had caused her to reason upon the matter, and the more she reasoned, the better she convinced herself that a long period of waiting without news was to be expected in the case of an adventure such as that in which Captain Horn was engaged.  There was, perhaps, another reason for her present state of mind—­a reason which she did not recognize:  she had become accustomed to waiting.

It was at a grand hotel that the party now established themselves, the space, the plate-glass, the gilt, and the general splendor of which made Ralph exclaim in wonder and admiration.

“You would better look out, Edna,” said he, “or it will not be long before we find ourselves living over in the Latin Quarter, and taking our meals at a restaurant where you pay a sou for the use of the napkins.”

Edna’s disposition demanded that her mode of life should not be ostentatious, but she conformed in many ways to the style of her hotel.  There were returns of hospitality.  There was a liveried coachman when they drove.  There was a general freshening of wardrobes, and even Cheditafa and Mok had new clothes, designed by an artist to suit their positions.

If Captain Horn should come to Paris, he should not find that she had doubted his success, or him.