“She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. She had remained patently unavailable to him. The clever hostess having let fall that several distinguished guests from France would be present, the world had flocked to her doors to catch, like the gossip-hungry vultures they were, a glimpse of them.
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