"He will think me ungrateful," she murmured with half-closed eyes. "He
will think--no matter, he will forget me before half an hour. I will go
back to Johann and chance the beating. This is no place for one like
me."

With a little graceful gesture she bent over the mantel and pressed her
lips to the spot where Adrien had rested his arm; then with noiseless
steps she stole from the room.

The sun was breaking through the morning mist, but she shivered as its
warm rays touched her, and with a weary sigh turned towards Soho.

It was all over, the little patch of fairy-light in the dreary darkness
of her existence, and as she reminded herself of this fact she shuddered
again.

Looking back, she remembered but little beyond the days she had passed
with Johann and his shrewish wife. This strange adventure had been the
first ray of sunshine in her poor existence. No wonder that she was
unhappy at parting with it.

Suddenly as she passed into Oxford Street she stopped, struck with an
idea that sent her blood flowing into her pale cheek, flushing it into
living beauty. Her large eyes grew thoughtful and full of a strange
light.

"Why should I go back to Johann?" she murmured. "Can't I follow him--the
kind gentleman? Can't I be his servant?"

The answer came quick enough from her inner consciousness. No, she must
go back. Of what service could she be to such a man as Adrien? There was
nothing for it but to return to Cracknell Court. So, wearily, but still
with that grace which Southern blood bestows, even though it runs in the
veins of a gipsy, or such a street waif as Jessica, she walked on and
reached Johann Wilfer's house.