ou are tired," she murmured, giving him a last downward glance as
she turned away.

From Rhodes Nick Lansing telegraphed to his Paris bank to send his
letters to Candia; but when the Ibis reached Candia, and the mail was
brought on board, the thick envelope handed to him contained no letter
from Susy.

Why should it, since he had not yet written to her?

He had not written, no: but in sending his address to the bank he knew
he had given her the opportunity of reaching him if she wished to. And
she had made no sign.

Late that afternoon, when they returned to the yacht from their first
expedition, a packet of newspapers lay on the deck-house table. Nick
picked up one of the London journals, and his eye ran absently down the
list of social events.

He read:

"Among the visitors expected next week at Ruan Castle (let for the
season to Mr. Frederick J. Gillow of New York) are Prince Altineri of
Rome, the Earl of Altringham and Mrs. Nicholas Lansing, who arrived in
London last week from Paris." Nick threw down the paper. It was just a
month since he had left the Palazzo Vanderlyn and flung himself into the
night express for Milan. A whole month--and Susy had not written. Only a
month--and Susy and Strefford were already together!

XVII

SUSY had decided to wait for Strefford in London.

The new Lord Altringham was with his family in the north, and though she
found a telegram on arriving, saying that he would join her in town the
following week, she had still an interval of several days to fill.

London was a desert; the rain fell without ceasing, and alone in the
shabby family hotel which, even out of season, was the best she could
afford, she sat at last face to face with herself.

From the moment when Violet Melrose had failed to carry out her plan
for the Fulmer children her interest in Susy had visibly waned. Often
before, in the old days, Susy Branch had felt the same abrupt change of
temperature in the manner of the hostess of the moment; and often--how
often--had yielded, and performed the required service, rather than risk
the consequences of estrangement. To that, at least, thank heaven, she
need never stoop again.

But as she hurriedly packed her trunks at Versailles, scraped together
an adequate tip for Mrs. Match, and bade good-bye to Violet (grown
suddenly fond and demonstrative as she saw her visitor safely headed
for the station)--as Susy went through the old familiar mummery of the
enforce