all these friends
of hers in far-away England seemed quite unreal and, above all, quite
uninteresting.

Sylvia told herself with bitter pain, and again the tears sprang to her
eyes, that no one in the wide world really cared for her. Those people
who had been going to Switzerland had thrown her over without a thought.
Anna Wolsky, who had spoken as if she really loved her only a day or two
ago, and who had made that love her excuse for a somewhat impertinent
interference in Sylvia's private affairs, had left Lacville without even
sending her word that she was leaving!

True, she had a new and a delightful friend in Count Paul de Virieu. But
what if Anna had been right? What if Count Paul were a dangerous friend,
or, worse still, only amusing himself at her expense? True, he had taken
her to see his sister; but that, after all, might not mean very much.

Sylvia Bailey went through a very mournful hour. She felt terribly
depressed and unhappy, and at last, though there was still a considerable
time to dinner, she went downstairs and out into the garden with a book.

And then, in a moment, everything was changed. From sad, she became
happy; from mournful and self-pitying, full of exquisite content.

Looking up, Sylvia had seen the now familiar figure of Count Paul de
Virieu hurrying towards her.

How early he had left Paris! She had understood that he meant to come
back by the last train, or more probably to-morrow morning.

"Paris was so hot, and my sister found that friends of hers were passing
through, so I came back earlier than I meant to do," he said a little
lamely; and then, "Is anything the matter?"

He looked with quick, anxious concern into her pale face and red-lidded
eyes. "Did you have a bad night at the tables?"

Sylvia shook her head.

"Something so strange--so unexpected--has happened." Her mouth quivered.
"Anna Wolsky has left Lacville!"

"Left Lacville?" Count Paul repeated, in almost as incredulous a tone
as that in which Sylvia herself had said the words when the news had
been first brought her. "Have you and she quarrelled, Mrs. Bailey? You
permit?" He waited till she looked up and said listlessly, "Yes, please
do," before lighting his cigarette.

"Quarrelled? Oh, no! She has simply gone away without telling me!"

The Comte de Virieu looked surprised, but not particularly sorry.

"That's very strange," he said. "I should have thought your friend was
not likely to leave Lacville for ma