depart thither--troubled her not at all.

When Storran rejoined her a much more practical consideration presented
itself to her mind.

"But, my dear man, you can't fly with me to Paris without even a
tooth-brush! I'd forgotten you'd no luggage!"

Her face fell as she spoke. But Storran dismissed the matter with a
smile.

"Oh, I can buy clean collars and shirts as I go along," he replied,
entirely unruffled. "The dickens was to get on to the train at all!
They assured me there wasn't a seat. However, I make a point of never
believing official statements--on principle."

And as a consequence of such well-directed incredulity, Storran
accompanied Gillian to Dover and thence to Calais.

They had a good crossing--sun up and blue sky. Looking back, afterwards,
it always seemed to Gillian as though the short time it occupied
had been a merciful breathing space--a tranquil interval, specially
vouchsafed, in which she was able to brace herself for the coming race
against time. Just so long as they were on board, nothing she could do
was of any importance whatever, either to help or hinder the fulfilment
of her errand. She could not quicken the speed of the boat by a single
throb of its engine. So, like a sensible woman, she sat on deck with Dan
and enjoyed herself amazingly.

Afterwards, in quick succession, came the stir and bustle of landing and
the journey to Paris. They arrived too late to make any inquiries that
night, but ten o'clock the following morning found them outside the
building where Michael had his apartment.

"Oh, Dan!"--Gillian was seized with sudden panic. "Supposing he is here,
after all, and has _deliberately_ not answered Lady Arabella's letter?"

"I shouldn't suppose anything so foolish. Michael may be many kinds of
a fool--artists very often are, I believe. It's part of the temperament.
But whatever he proposed to do regarding Magda, there's no reason in the
world to suppose he wouldn't answer Lady Arabella's letter."

"No--no. Perhaps not," agreed Gillian hurriedly. But it was in rather
a shaky voice that she asked to see Mr. Quarrington when finally they
found themselves confronted by the concierge.

"Monsieur Quarrington?" Hands, shoulders, and eyebrows all seemed to
gesticulate at once as madame la concierge made answer. "But he has been
gone from here two--no, three months. Perhaps madame did not know?"

"No," said Gillian. "I didn't know. But I thought he might possibly be
away, becaus