“Are you really rich?  Eve said you weren’t.”

“Did she?”

“I don’t mean she said it in a disagreeable way.  It was last night.  She thought you were wasting your money upon us.”

“If I choose to waste it, why not?  Isn’t there a pleasure in doing as you like?”

“Oh, of course there is,” Patty assented.  “I only wish I had the chance.  But it’s awfully jolly, this!  Who’d have thought, a week ago, that I should be going to Paris?  I have a feeling all the time that I shall wake up and find I’ve been dreaming.”

“Suppose you go down and see whether Eve wants anything?  You needn’t say I sent you.”

From Calais to Paris he again travelled apart from the girls.  Fatigue overcame him, and for the last hour or two he slept, with the result that, on alighting at the Gare du Nord, he experienced a decided failure of spirits.  Happily, there was nothing before him but to carry out a plan already elaborated.  With the aid of his guide-book he had selected an hotel which seemed suitable for the girls, one where English was spoken, and thither he drove with them from the station.  The choice of their rooms, and the settlement of details took only a few minutes; then, for almost the first time since leaving Charing Cross, he spoke to Eve.

“Patty will do everything she can for you,” he said; “I shall be not very far away, and you can always send me a message if you wish.  To-morrow morning I shall come at about ten to ask how you are—­ nothing more than that—­unless you care to go anywhere.”

The only reply was “Thank you,” in a weary tone.  And so, having taken his leave he set forth to discover a considerably less expensive lodging for himself.  In this, after his earlier acquaintance with Paris, he had no difficulty; by half-past eight his business was done, and he sat down to dinner at a cheap restaurant.  A headache spoilt his enjoyment of the meal.  After a brief ramble about the streets, he went home and got into a bed which was rather too short for him, but otherwise promised sufficient comfort.

The first thing that came into his mind when he awoke next morning was that he no longer possessed a watch; the loss cast a gloom upon him.  But he had slept well, and a flood of sunshine that streamed over his scantily carpeted floor, together with gladly remembered sounds from the street, soon put him into an excellent humour.  He sprang tip, partly dressed himself, and unhasped the window.  The smell of Paris had become associated in his mind with thoughts of liberty; a grotesque dance about the bed-room expressed his joy.

As he anticipated, Patty alone received him when he called upon the girls.  She reported that Eve felt unable to rise.

“What do you think about her?” he asked.  “Nothing serious, is it?”

“She can’t get rid of her headache.”

“Let her rest as long as she likes.  Are you comfortable here?”