ished to a quarter of an inch.
And she also noticed, on the open page, another phenomenon. It was the
failing of the day--the faintest shadow on the page. With incredible
transience another of those brief interruptions of darkness which in
London in winter are called days was ending. She rose and went to the
discreetly-curtained window, and, conscious of the extreme propriety
of her appearance, boldly pulled aside the curtain and looked across,
through naked glass, at the hotel nearly opposite. There was not a
sound, not a movement, in Cork Street. Cork Street, the flat, the
hotel, the city, the universe, lay entranced and stupefied beneath
the grey vapours of the Sabbath. The sensation to Christine was
melancholy, but it was exquisitely melancholy.

The solid hotel dissolved, and in its place Christine saw the
interesting, pathetic phantom of her own existence. A stern, serious
existence, full of disappointments, and not free from dangerous
episodes, an existence which entailed much solitude and loss of
liberty; but the verdict upon it was that in the main it might easily
have been more unsatisfactory than it was. With her indolence and
her unappeasable temperament what other vocation indeed, save that
of marriage, could she have taken up? And her temperament would have
rendered any marriage an impossible prison for her. She was a modest
success--her mother had always counselled her against ambition--but
she was a success. Her magic power was at its height. She continued to
save money and had become a fairly regular frequenter of the West
End branch of the Credit Lyonnais. (Incidentally she had come to an
arrangement with her Paris landlord.)

But, more important than money, she was saving her health, and
especially her complexion--the source of money. Her complexion could
still survive the minutest examination. She achieved this supreme end
by plenty of sleep and by keeping to the minimum of alcohol. Of course
she had to drink professionally; clients insisted; some of them
were exhilarated by the spectacle of a girl tipsy; but she was very
ingenious in avoiding alcohol. When invited to supper she would
respond with an air of restrained eagerness: "Oh, yes, with pleasure!"
And then carelessly add: "Unless you would prefer to come quietly
home with me. My maid is an excellent cook and one is very comfortable
_chez-moi_." And often the prospect thus sketched would piquantly
allure a client. Nevertheless at intervals sh