“It didn’t look like it.  She’s shut herself in her room.”

“I can understand that.  She is ill.  That’s why I’m getting her away from London.  Wait till we’ve been in Paris a few weeks, and you’ll see how she changes.  At present she is downright ill—­ill enough to go to bed and be nursed, if that would do any good.  It’s your part to look after her.  I don’t want you to be her servant.”

“Oh, I don’t mind doing anything for her.”

“No, because you are a very good sort of girl.  You ’Ii live at a hotel, and what you have to do is to make her enjoy herself.  I shouldn’t wonder if you find it difficult at first, but we shall get her round before long.”

“I never thought there was anything the’ matter with her.”

“Perhaps not, but I understand her better.  Of course you won’t say a word of this to her.  You take it as a holiday—­as good fun.  No doubt I shall be able to have a few words in private with you now and then.  But at other times we must talk as if nothing special had passed between us.”

Patty mused.  The lightness of her step told in what a spirit of gaiety she looked forward to the expedition.

“Do you think,” she asked presently, “that it’ll all come to an end —­what I told you of?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You didn’t let her know that I’d been talking——­”

“Of course not.  And, as I don’t want her to know that you’ve seen me to-night, you had better stay no longer.  She’s sure to have something to tell you to-night or to-morrow morning.  Get your packing done, and be ready at any moment.  When I hear from Eve in the morning, I shall send her a telegram.  Most likely we sha’n’t see each other again until we meet at Charing Cross.  I hope it may be tomorrow; but Thursday is the latest.”

So Patty took her departure, tripping briskly homeward.  As for Hilliard, he returned to his sitting-room, and was busy for some time with the pencilling of computations in English and French money.  Towards midnight, he walked as far as High Street, and looked at the windows above the music-shop.  All was dark.

He rose very early next morning, and as post-time drew near he walked about the street in agonies of suspense.  He watched the letter-carrier from house to house, followed him up, and saw him pass the number at which he felt assured that he would deliver a letter.  In frenzy of disappointment a fierce oath burst from his lips.

“That’s what comes of trusting a woman!—­she is going to cheat me.  She has gained her end, and will put me off with excuses.”

But perhaps a telegram would come.  He made a pretence of breakfasting, and paced his room for an hour like a caged animal.  When the monotony of circulating movement had all but stupefied him, he was awakened by a double postman’s knock at the front door, the signal that announces a telegram.

Again from Patty, and again a request that he would come to the shop at mid-day.