a strange look, a mingling
of abject terror and passionate defiance, gave her an aspect quite
insane--"I am going. Perhaps I, too, have no limit."

And she went along the corridor, past a group of gaping and frightened
servants, down the stairway and out by the private entrance for the
grand apartments of the hotel in the Rue Raymond de l'Isle. She
crossed the Rue de Rivoli and entered the Tuileries Gardens. It was
only bracingly cool in the sunshine of that winter day. She seated
herself on a chair on the terrace to regain her ebbed strength. Hardly
had she sat down when the woman collector came and stood waiting for
the two sous for the chair. Mildred opened her bag, found two coins.
She gave the coppers to the woman. The other--all the money she
had--was the fifty-centime piece.

"But the bag--I can get a good deal for that," she said aloud.

"I beg your pardon--I didn't catch that."

She came back to a sense of her surroundings. Stanley Baird was
standing a few feet away, smiling down at her. He was, if possible,
even more attractively dressed than in the days when he hovered about
her, hoping vague things of which he was ashamed and trying to get the
courage to put down his snobbishness and marry her because she so
exactly suited him. He was wearing a new kind of collar and tie,
striking yet in excellent quiet taste. Also, his face and figure had
filled out just enough--he had been too thin in the former days. But
he was now entered upon that period of the fearsome forties when,
unless a man amounts to something, he begins to look insignificant. He
did not amount to anything; he was therefore paling and waning as a
personality.

"Was I thinking aloud?" said Mildred, as she gave him her hand.

"You said something about 'getting a good deal.'" He inspected her with
the freedom of an old friend and with the thoroughness of a
connoisseur. Women who took pains with themselves and were satisfied
with the results liked Stanley Baird's knowing and appreciative way of
noting the best points in their toilets. "You're looking fine,"
declared he. "It must be a pleasure to them up in the Rue de la Paix
to dress you. That's more than can be said for nine out of ten of the
women who go there. Yes, you're looking fine--and in grand health,
too. Why, you look younger than I ever saw you. Nothing like marriage
to freshen a girl up. Well, I suppose waiting round for a husband who
may or may not turn up does