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They arrived at their destination late that night and went straight to the Grand Hotel, where Rowton had telegraphed for rooms. They found a bedroom, dressing-room and a large salon at their service. Nancy felt intensely happy, but also queerly restless and excited. She walked about her salon and looked out of the window into the courtyard below. Large parties of smartly-dressed people were sitting there, a fountain playing in the middle; the place looked gay, very gay, and a splendid string band was playing martial music. Winter as it was, the night was clear and full of stars, the atmosphere was destitute of the faint suspicion of fog which almost always hangs over England in winter. Nancy opened the window and looked out; Rowton went and stood by her side.

“What do you think of Paris the gay?” he said.

Something in his tone made her start. She drew in her head, turned round and faced him.

“Why did you bring me to Paris for my honeymoon?” she asked suddenly.

“What do you mean, Nance?” he answered.