"Do you genuinely wish Lady Sellingworth to finish the evening at the
Cafe Royal?" he asked of his companion.

"Yes. They would love her there. She would bring a new note."

"Probably. But would she love them?"

"I don't think you quite understand her," said Miss Van Tuyn.

"I'm quite sure I don't. Still--"

"In past years I am certain she has been to all the odd cafes of Paris."

"Perhaps. But one changes. And you yourself said there were--or was it
had been?--two Adela Sellingworths, and that you only knew one."

"Yes. But perhaps at the Cafe Royal I should get to know the other."

"May she not be dead?"

"I have a theory that nothing of us really dies while we live. Our abode
changes. We know that. But I believe the inhabitant is permanent. We are
what we were, with, of course, innumerable additions brought to us by
the years. For instance, I believe that Lady Sellingworth now is what
she was, to all intents and purposes, with additions which naturally
have made great apparent changes in her. An old moss-covered house,
overgrown with creepers, looks quite different from the same house when
it is new and bare. But go inside--the rooms are the same, and under the
moss and the creepers are the same walls."