We put on our dark hats and long travelling cloaks. I pinned on Lisa's veil, and my own. Then she peeped to see if anyone were about; but there was n.o.body in the corridor. We hurried out, and as Lisa already knew where to find the 'service' stairs, we were soon on the way down. At the side entrance of the hotel the motor-cab was waiting, and when we were both seated inside, Lisa spoke in French to the driver, who waited for orders.

"I think you might take us to the Rue d'Hollande. Drive fast, please.

After that, I'll tell you where to go next."

"Is this your 'inspiration'?" I asked.

"I'm not sure yet. Why?" and her voice was rather sharp.

"For no particular reason. I'm a little curious, that's all."

We drove on for some minutes in silence. I was sure now that Lisa had been playing with me, that all along she had had some special destination in her mind, and that she had her own reasons for wanting to bring me to it. But what use to ask more questions? She did not mean me to find out until she was ready for me to know.

She had told the man to go quickly, and he obeyed. He rushed us round corners and through street after street which I had never seen before--quiet streets, where there were no cabs, and no gay people coming home from theatres and dinners. At last we turned into a particularly dull little street, and stopped.

"Is this the Rue d'Hollande?" Lisa enquired of the driver, jumping quickly up and putting her head out of the window.

"_Mais oui, Mademoiselle_," I heard the man answer.

"Then stop where you are, please, until I give you new orders."

"I should have thought this was the sort of street where nothing could possibly happen," said I.

"Wait a little, and maybe you'll find out you're mistaken. If nothing does, and we aren't amused, we can go on somewhere else."

She had not finished speaking when a handsome electric carriage spun almost noiselessly round the corner. It slowed down before a gate set in a high wall, almost covered with creepers, and though the street was dimly lighted and we had stopped at a little distance, I could see that the house behind the wall, though not large, was very quaint and pretty, an unusual sort of house for Paris, it seemed to me.

Scarcely had the electric carriage come to a halt when the chauffeur, in neat, dark livery, jumped down to open the door; and quickly a tall, slim woman sprang out, followed by another, elderly and stout, who looked like a lady's maid.

I could not see the face of either, but the light of the lamp on our side of the way shone on the hair of the slim young woman in black, who got down first. It was gorgeous hair, the colour of burnished copper. I had heard a man say once that only two women in the world had hair of that exact shade: Jane Hading and Maxine de Renzie.

My heart gave a great bound, and I guessed in an instant why Lisa had brought me here, though how she could have learned where to find the house, I didn't know.

"Oh, Lisa!" I reproached her. "How _could_ you?"

"It really _was_ an inspiration. I'm sure of that now," she said quietly, though I could tell by her tone that she was trying to hide excitement. "You never saw that woman before, except once on the stage, yet you know who she is. You jumped as if she had fired a shot at you."

"I know by the hair," I answered. "I might have foreseen this would be the kind of thing you would think of--it's like you."

"You ought to be grateful to me for thinking of it," said Lisa. "It's entirely for your sake; and it's quite true, it was an inspiration to come here. This afternoon in the train I read an interview in 'Femina'

with Maxine de Renzie, about the new play she's produced to-night. There was a picture of her, and a description of her house in the Rue d'Hollande."

"Now you have satisfied your curiosity. You've seen her back, and her maid's back, and the garden wall," I said, more sharply than I often speak to Lisa. "I shall tell the driver to take us to the hotel at once.

I know why you want to wait here, but you shan't--I won't. I'm going away as quickly as I can."

She caught my dress as I would have leaned out to speak to the driver.

Her manner had suddenly changed, and she was all softness and sweetness, and persuasiveness.

"Di, dearest girl, _don't_ be cross with me; please don't misunderstand," she implored. "I love you, you know, even if you sometimes think I don't; I want you to be happy--oh, wait a moment, and listen. I've been so miserable all day, knowing you were miserable; and I've felt horribly guilty for fear, after all, I'd said too much. Of course if you'd guessed where I meant to come, you wouldn't have stirred out of the hotel, and it was better for you to see for yourself. Unless Ivor Dundas came here with a motor-cab, as we did, he could hardly have arrived yet, so if he does come, we shall know. If he _doesn't_ come, we shall know, too. Think how happy you'll feel if he _doesn't!_ I'll apologise to you then, frankly and freely; and I suppose you would not mind apologising to him, if necessary?"

"He may be in the house now," I said, more to myself than to Lisa.

"If he is, he'll come out and meet her when he hears the gate open.

There, it's open now. The maid's unlocked it. No, there's n.o.body in the garden."

"I can't stop here and watch for him, like a spy," I said.

"Not like a spy, but like a girl who thinks she may have done a man an injustice. It's for _his_ sake I ask you to stay. And if you won't, I must stay alone. If you insist on going away, I'll get out and stand in the street, either until Ivor Dundas has come, or until I'm sure he isn't coming. But how much better to wait and see for yourself."

"You know I can't go off and leave you standing here," I answered. "And I can't leave you sitting in the carriage, and walk through the streets alone. I might meet--" I would not finish my sentence, but Lisa must nave guessed the name on my lips.

"The only thing to do, then, is for us to stop where we are, together,"

said Lisa, "for stop I must and shall, in justice to myself, to Ivor Dundas and to you. You couldn't force me away, even if you wanted to use force."

"Which you know is out of the question," I said, desperately. "But why has your conscience begun to reproach you for trying to put me against Ivor? You seemed to have no scruples whatever, last night and this morning."

"I've been thinking hard since then. I want my warning to you either to be justified, or else I want to apologise humbly. For if Ivor doesn't come to this house to-night, in spite of his embarra.s.sment when he spoke about an engagement, I shall believe that he doesn't care a rap about Maxine de Renzie."

I said no more, but leaned back against the cushions, my heart beating as if it were in my throat, and my brain throbbing in time with it. I could not think, or argue with myself what was really right and wise to do. I could only give myself up, and drift with circ.u.mstances.

"A man has just come round the far corner," whispered Lisa. "Is it Ivor?

I can't make out. He doesn't look our way."

"Thank Heaven we're too far off for him to see our faces! I would rather die than have Ivor know we're here," I broke out.

"I don't think it is Ivor," Lisa went on. "He's hidden himself in the shadow, as if he were watching. It's _that_ house he's interested in.

Who can he be, if not Ivor? A detective, perhaps."

"Why should a detective watch Mademoiselle de Renzie's house?" I asked, in spite of myself.

Lisa seemed a little confused, as if she had said something she regretted.

"I don't know, I'm sure," she answered hastily. "Why, indeed? It was just a thought. The man seems so anxious not to be seen. Oh--keep back, Di, don't look out for an instant, till he's pa.s.sed. Ivor is coming now.

He's walking in a great hurry. There! he can't see you. He's far enough away for you to peep, and see for yourself. He's at Maxine de Renzie's gate."

It was all over, then, and no more hope. His eyes when they gave me that tragic look had lied, even as his lips had lied last night, when he told me there was no other woman in his world but me.

"I won't look," I stammered, almost choking.

"Someone, I can't see who, is letting him in. The gate's shut behind him."

"Let us go now," I begged.

"No, no, not yet!" cried Lisa. "I must know what happens next. We are in the midst of it, indeed."

I hardly cared what she did, now. Ivor had come to see Maxine de Renzie, and nothing else mattered very much. I had no strength to insist that we should go.

"I wonder what the man in the shadow would do if he saw us?" Lisa said.

Then she leaned out, on the side away from the hiding man, and softly told our chauffeur to go very slowly along the street. This he did, but the man did not move.