She was wearing something brown, and her boots were white with dust, and these people had never seen a lady look so tired before; when she stood still she had to lean against the wall.

They said she had red-hot eyes.
Tommy was in an einspaenner now, the merry conveyance of the country and more intoxicating than its wines, and he drove back through St.
Gian to Bad-Platten, where again he heard from Grizel, though he did not find her.

What he found was her telegram from London: "I am coming.

GRIZEL." Why had she come?
why had she sent that telegram?
what had taken her to London?
He was not losing time when he asked himself distractedly these questions, for he was again in his gay carriage and driving back to the wayside inn.

He spent the night there, afraid to go farther lest he should pass her in the darkness; for he had decided that, if alive, she was on this road.