It was because I couldn't bear to do the things I'm accustomed to doing every day.

I felt as if I should cry, or scream, or do something ridiculous and awful unless there were a change of some sort--any change, but if possible some novelty and excitement, with people talking to me every minute.
Perhaps, too, there was an attraction for me in the thought that I would be in Paris while Ivor was there.

I kept reminding myself on the boat and the train that nothing good could happen; that Ivor and I could never be as we had been before; that it was all over between us for ever and ever, and through his fault.

But, there at the bottom was the thought that I _might_ have done him an injustice, because he had begged me to trust him, and I wouldn't.

Just suppose--something in myself kept on saying--that we should by mere chance meet in Paris, and he should be able to prove that he hadn't come for Maxine de Renzie's sake! It would be too glorious.