She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief; they felt hot and burning. She looked at herself anxiously in the little mirror––such a white face; she turned away impatiently.
Twelve o’clock; there was a train up to town at half-past, she knew. The confusion in her brain seemed to have passed all at once; she felt quite calm and clear.
She would go to Paris––she would see Raymond, and hear from his own lips what a lie it was. She ought to have gone before. She had been a fool to listen to Micky; of course he would not wish her to go.
She put a few things into a bag. She took the last letter she had had from Raymond, and kissed it before thrusting it back into her dress; she scribbled a pencil note to June and fastened it to the pincushion.
With the little suit-case in her hand she went downstairs and out into the street.
There was nobody about, and she almost ran to the station. The porter who had witnessed her meeting yesterday with Micky stared at her wonderingly.
The London train was due now, he told her. She’d have to hurry.... She was gone before he finished his slow speech.
She found an empty carriage and got in, sitting as far away from the door as possible in case any one should come along the platform and recognize her. It was only when the train started away that she leaned back and closed her eyes.
“I am going to Paris; I can’t live without him any longer. Please don’t worry.” Over and over she found herself repeating these words in her brain. She wondered where she had heard them and what they really meant.