The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (12.1897)

io6

Flower o’ the Clove

Where was she now ? Where was he ? Where was Madame
Dornaye, who had gone to look for her ? Could—could it pos-
sibly be—that he—this man notorious for his corruption even in
the corruptest world of Paris—could it be that he was the man
Johannah meant when she had talked of the man she was in love
with ? And Will, fatuous imbecile, had vainly allowed himself
to imagine. . . . Oh, why did she not come back ? What could
be keeping her away from him all this time? . . . “I have had
a hundred, I have had a hundred.” The phrase echoed and
echoed in his memory. She had said, “ I have had a hundred
love affairs.” Oh, to be sure, in the next breath, she had contra-
dicted herself, she had said, “ No, I haven’t.” But she had added,
“ Everybody has had at least one.” So she had had at least one.
With this man, George Aymer ? Madame Dornaye said she
had broken with him, ceased to see him. But—it was certain
she had seen him to-day. But—lovers’ quarrels are made up ;

lovers break with each other, and then come together again, are
reunited. . . . Perhaps . . . Perhaps . . . Oh, where was she ?
Why did she remain away in this mysterious fashion ? What
could she be doing ? What could she be doing ?

The dressing-bell rang, and he went to dress for dinner.

“ Anyhow, I shall see her now, I shall see her at dinner,” he
kept telling himself, as he dressed.

But when he came downstairs the drawing-room was still
empty. He walked backwards and forwards.

“ We shall have to dine without our hostess,” Madame Dor-
naye said, entering presently. “Jeanne has a bad headache, and
will stay in her room.”

Will