iend Narramore is here, and has persuaded me
to go to Switzerland with him. I shall be away for a week or two, and
will let you hear from me in the meantime. Narramore says I am looking
vastly better, and it is you I have to thank for this. Without you, my
attempts at 'enjoying life' would have been a poor business. We start
in an hour or two,--Yours ever,

"MAURICE HILLIARD."

CHAPTER XVI

He was absent for full three weeks, and arrived with his friends at the
Gare de Lyon early one morning of September. Narramore and the
architect delayed only for a meal, and pursued their journey homeward;
Hilliard returned to his old quarters despatched a post-card asking Eve
and Patty to dine with him that evening, and thereupon went to bed,
where for some eight hours he slept the sleep of healthy fatigue.

The place he had appointed for meeting with the girls was at the foot
of the Boulevard St. Michel. Eve came alone.

"And where's Patty?" he asked, grasping her hand heartily in return for
the smile of unfeigned pleasure with which she welcomed him.

"Ah, where indeed? Getting near to Charing Cross by now, I think."

"She has gone back?"

"Went this very morning, before I had your card--let us get out of the
way of people. She has been dreadfully home-sick. About a fortnight ago
a mysterious letter came for her she hid it away from me. A few days
after another came, and she shut herself up for a long time, and when
she came out again I saw she had been crying. Then we talked it over.
She had written to Mr. Dally and got an answer that made her miserable;
that was the _first_ letter. She wrote again, and had a reply that made
her still more wretched; and that was the _second_. Two or three more
came, and yesterday she could bear it no longer."

"Then she has gone home to make it up with him?"

"Of course. He declared that she has utterly lost her character and
that no honest man could have anything more to say to her! I shouldn't
wonder if they are married in a few weeks' time."

Hilliard laughed light-heartedly.

"I was to beg you on my knees to forgive her," pursued Eve. "But I
can't very well do that in the middle of the street, can I? Really, she
thinks she has behaved disgracefully to you. She wouldn't write a
letter--she was ashamed. 'Tell him to forget all about me!' she kept
saying."

"Good little girl! And what sort of a husband will this fellow Dally
make her?"

"No worse than husbands in genera