oughfare, the place where the Parisian
gets such exquisite dishes at fair prices. Charlie was seated in the
window, as they had arranged, and on seeing her, he dashed out and
joined her.

"Well?" she asked. "How are you to-day? Not so awfully gloomy, I
hope."

"Not at all, dearest," he laughed, for his old nonchalance had
returned to him. "I've been full of business since nine o'clock. I
have an appointment out at La Muette at two, and I'll have to get back
to London to-night."

"To-night!" she echoed disappointedly. "We don't return till next
Tuesday."

"I have to be back to see my people about some cars that can't be
delivered for another six weeks. There's a beastly hitch about
delivery."

"Well," said the girl, as they walked side by side in the cold, bright
morning. The winter mornings are always bright and clearer in Paris
than in London. "Well, I have some news for you, dear."

"What news?" he asked.

"Lady Teesdale has asked us up to Hawstead, her place in Yorkshire. In
her letter to mother this morning she mentions that she is also asking
you."

"Me?"

"Yes. And, of course, you'll accept. Won't it be ripping? The
Teesdales have a lovely old place--oak-paneled, ghost-haunted, and all
that sort of thing. We've been there twice. The Teesdales'
shooting-parties are famed for their fun and merriment."

"I know Lady Teesdale," Otley said. "But I wonder why she has asked
me?"

"Don't wonder, dear boy--but accept and come. We'll have a real jolly
time."

And then they turned into the Boulevard des Italiens and idled before
some of the shops.

At noon she was compelled to leave him and return to her mother. He
put her into a taxi outside the Grand Hotel, and then they parted.

Before doing so, the girl said:

"What about next Wednesday? Shall we meet?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Very well," she exclaimed. "Wednesday at six--eh? I'll come up to
your rooms. We can talk there. I don't like to see you so worried,
dear. There's something you're concealing from me, I'm sure of it."

Then he bent over her hand in a fashion more courtly than the
"Cheerio!" of to-day, and standing on the curb watched the taxi speed
down the Rue de la Paix.

"Ah!" he murmured aloud, drawing a deep sigh. "Ah! If she only
knew!--_if she only knew!_"

He strode along the boulevard caring nothing where his footsteps led
him. The gay, elegant, careless crowd of Paris passed, but he had no
eyes for it all.

"Shall I tell her