They would get along together somehow and she would do what Chrissie wanted, as she had always done in the past. After all, they were flesh and blood. Wasn’t that what counted more than anything else?

Then she thought of François. He was so kind, so understanding. There was nothing she could not tell him, nothing that he would not understand. He loved her really and sincerely. She had seen enough of men in her life to know the truth when she met it.

François loved her, and she loved him. She felt her heart throb at the thought, and then her eyes rested once more on Chrissie, on the piteously deformed back, at the prematurely aged and wrinkled neck, at the legs that were too short, at the arms which were too long. Poor, poor Chrissie, how could she leave her? How could she believe François when he said Chrissie was a bad influence? He was wrong, he did not understand how stupid and tiresome she had always been, how lazy and incompetent. She could not go! She must not!

And then, as she wavered, it seemed to Stella that she saw Mistral, saw her wide eyes, honest and truthful, looking into hers and her voice, clear and sweet, saying,

‘In doing what is right we are doing the work of God, and that comes first. We must do what is right, however great the cost to ourselves or to other people.’

It was right to marry François. Stella was certain of that as she had never been certain of anything in her life before. She walked slowly towards the door. Chrissie had neither moved nor made a sound, but Stella knew that she was waiting, waiting for her to capitulate, to surrender both her will and her new found freedom.

‘I’m sorry, Chrissie,’ she said softly. ‘Good bye!’

Chrissie did not move nor cry out. She had lost the last battle, and she knew it. Stella had gone and she would never return. How long she lay on the bed she did not know, but when at length she raised her head, it was to look at the clock. The Rajah might by this time have read Stella’s note. When he had done so there was a chance that he might come to the Villa Mimosa, but before he came, there was something Chrissie must do.

Quickly, as if impelled by a sudden fear, she went to Stella’s room. All her things had gone, the dressing table was bare, cupboard doors stood open to reveal their emptiness. It was a room impersonal and without individuality, as it had been on the day of their arrival, a vacant room, Chrissie thought suddenly, waiting for the next occupant.