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 Piccadilly, determined to take tea at the Ritz-Carlton, in fact he had already decided never to be absent from any meal.

In the lounge he went through the same process as at lunch, striving to penetrate the creations and camouflages of Paquin and Louise.

No, she was not there. He would wait until dinner-time when, unmodified by millinery, Nature might more easily be studied.

After tea he strolled once more down to the Park, loitering about by the Stanhope Gate until nearly seven o'clock. As he drove back to the hotel, he was conscious of a great weariness both physical and mental.

Dressing leisurely, it was half-past eight before he entered the dining-room, feeling in a modified form the same thrill he had experienced at lunch-time. On this occasion he immediately proceeded to investigate his fellow guests; but although he scanned the women at every table in the room, there was no one he could even for a moment mistake for the Rain-Girl.

This time burgundy, although the same as he had drunk at lunch, failed to dissipate the cloud of depression that descended upon him. Something had obviously happened. She was not staying at the Ritz-Carlton. In all probability he would never see her again. No doubt the aunt, of whom she had spoken, had developed nerves. Damn aunts! What possible use were aunts in the economy of things? There was his own Aunt Caroline, for instance. She