I should begin to live again--for already I'd found out that life without loving and trusting Ivor wasn't life at all.
He couldn't think I had followed him, even if he did see me in Paris, because I would be with my Aunt and Uncle, and Lord Robert West; and I made up my mind to be very nice to Lord Bob, much nicer than I ever had been, if Ivor happened to run across us anywhere.
Then that very thing did happen, in the strangest and most unexpected way, but instead of being happier for seeing him, I was ten times more unhappy than before--for now the misery had no gleam of hope shining through its blackness.
That was what I told myself at first.

But after we had met in the hall of the hotel, and Ivor had seemed confused, and wouldn't give up his mysterious engagement, or say what it was, though Lisa chaffed him and he _must_ have known what I thought, I suddenly forgot the slight he had put upon me.

Instead of being angry with him, I was _afraid_ for him, I couldn't have explained why, unless it was the look on his face when he turned away from me.
No man would look like that who was going of his own free will to a woman with whom he was in love, that same queer something whispered in my ear.

Instead of feeling sick and sorry for myself and desperately angry with him, it was Ivor I felt sorry for.
I pretended not to care whether he stayed or went, and talked to Lord Robert West as if I'd forgotten that there was such a person as Ivor Dundas.

I even turned my back on him before he was gone.