were perhaps responsible for the silent speed with which Mrs. Lloyd-Evans began to put on her gloves again.
"I must say good-bye," she said agitatedly, "and I feel sure you will understand that all I have said arises only from my affection and anxiety for my dear, dear sister's only child."
"Perfectly, perfectly," warmly replied the Baronne, also rising, and ringing the bell.
"Your anxiety is well to be understood, and I am more than happy to have relieved it. Hippolyte, une voiture de place pour madame."
Thus it was that ten minutes later the astonished Henry beheld his wife emerge from that vehicle of destruction, a Paris fiacre, apparently too much distraught to have any very clear idea as to how she had ever found herself inside it.
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