"No, not here, little one. Thy Chérisette is going also to a new home; some day thou must visit her there."
But when he questioned and implored her to tell him about it she answered vaguely, and tried to divert his thoughts, until he said:
"It is not to Maman in heaven, is it, dear Chérisette? Because there, there would be enough place for us both—and surely thou couldst take me too?"
When she got back to Park Lane, and entered her uncle's library he was sitting at the writing table, the telephone in his hand. He welcomed her with his eyes and went on speaking, while she took a chair.
"Yes, do come and dine.—May you see her if by chance she did not go to Paris?" He looked up at Zara, who frowned. "No—she is very tired and has gone to her room for the evening.—She has been in the country to-day, seeing some friends.—No—not to-morrow—she goes to the country again, and to Paris the following night—To the station? I will ask her, but perhaps she is like me, and dislikes being seen off," then a laugh,—and then, "All right—well, come and dine at eight—good-bye." The financier put the receiver down and looked at his niece, a whimsical smile in his eyes.
"Well," he said, "your fiancé is very anxious to see you, it seems. What do you say?"
"Certainly not!" she flashed. "I thought it was understood; he shall not come to the train. I will go by another if he insists."
"He won't insist; tell me of your day?"
She calmed herself—her face had grown stormy.