f which
she was a little afraid, and yet from which she would not willingly
have parted. She told herself that she detested the house which she
had left, detested the thought of that darkened room. Nevertheless,
she was forced to look back. He was standing in the open doorway, from
which the butler had discreetly retired, and meeting her eyes he bowed
once more. She tried to smile unconcernedly, but failed. She looked
away with scarcely a return of his greeting.

"Home!" she told the man. "Drive quickly."

Almost before her own door she met Rochester. The sight of him was
somehow or other an immense relief to her. She fell back again in the
world which she knew. She stopped the carriage and called to him.

"Come and drive with me a little way," she begged. "I am stifled. I
want some fresh air. I want to talk to you. Oh, come, please!"

Rochester took the vacant seat by her side at once.

"What is it?" he asked gravely. "Tell me. You have had bad news?"

She shook her head.

"No!" she said. "I am afraid--that is all!"

CHAPTER XVIII

ROCHESTER'S ULTIMATUM

The Park into which they turned was almost deserted. Pauline stopped
the carriage and got out.

"Come and walk with me a little way," she said to Rochester. "We will
go and sit amongst that wilderness of empty chairs. I want to talk. I
must talk to someone. We shall be quite alone there."

Rochester walked by her side, puzzled. He had never seen her like
this.

"I suppose I am hysterical," she said, clutching at his arm for a
moment as they passed along the walk. "There, even that does me good.
It's good to feel--oh, I don't know what I'm talking about!" she
exclaimed.

"Where have you been this afternoon?" he asked gravely.

"To hear that awful man Naudheim," she answered. "Henry, I wish I'd
never been. I wish to Heaven you'd never asked Bertrand Saton to
Beauleys."

Rochester's face grew darker.

"I wish I'd wrung the fellow's neck the first day I saw him," he
declared, bitterly. "But after all, Pauline, you don't take this sort
of person seriously?"

"I wish I didn't," she answered.

"He's an infernal charlatan," Rochester declared. "I'm convinced of
it, and I mean to expose him."

She shook her head.

"You can call him what you like," she said, "but there is Naudheim
behind him. There is no one in Europe who would dare to call Naudheim
a charlatan."

"He is a wonderful man, but he is mad," Rochester said.

"No, he is not mad