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" "Why, surely you don't think your guests would steal them," observed Rachel, archly. The Frenchman was already being followed. He kissed her fingers and grinned. “You are coming right out into life—facing it all. ‘I don’t propose doing anything with you. For hats that fail and hats that flare; Toppers their universal wear; A man scores always, everywhere. “The man alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to say anything, what he would say would exonerate you. If you like books and music, we'll get along. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. . . ” “Then he—and Paris—lied,” Ennison answered. Miss Klegg and the youngest girl made a vigorous attack on Miss Garvice, who had said she thought women lost something infinitely precious by mingling in the conflicts of life. It doesn’t matter.
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