as that in your head I--"

"You wouldn't have come," I interrupted. "I know that; that's why I
didn't tell you. Of course you will go and of course you will leave me
here. We will be separated only two or three days. I'll ask Hepton to
give me an itinerary of the trip and I will wire when and where I will
join you. You must go, Hephzy; I insist upon it."

In spite of my insisting Hephzy still declared she should not go. It was
nearly midnight before she gave in.

"And if you DON'T come in three days at the longest," she said, "you'll
find me back here huntin' you up. I mean that, Hosy, so you'd better
understand it. And now," rising from her chair, "I'm goin' to see about
the things you're to wear while we're separated. If I don't you're
liable to keep on wet stockin's and shoes and things all the time and
forget to change 'em. You needn't say you won't, for I know you too
well. Mercy sakes! do you suppose I've taken care of you all these years
and DON'T know?"

The next forenoon I said good-by to her and the Heptons at the railway
station. Hephzy's last words to me were these:

"Remember," she said, "if you do get caught in the rain, there's dry
things in the lower tray of your trunk. Collars and neckties and shirts
are in the upper tray. I've hung your dress suit in the closet in case
you want it, though that isn't likely. And be careful what you eat, and
don't smoke too much, and--Yes, Mr. Hepton, I'm comin'--and don't spend
ALL your money in book-stores; you'll need some of it in Switzerland.
And--Oh, dear, Hosy! do be a good boy. I know you're always good, but,
from all I've heard, this Paris is an awful place and--good-by. Good-by.
In Lucerne in two days or Interlaken in three. It's got to be that,
or back I come, remember. I HATE to leave you all alone amongst these
jabberin' foreigners. I'm glad you can jabber, too, that's one comfort.
If it was me, all I could do would be to holler United States language
at 'em, and if they didn't understand that, just holler louder. I--Yes,
Mr. Hepton, I AM comin' now. Good-by, Hosy, dear."

The train rolled out of the station. I watched it go. Then I turned and
walked to the street. So far my scheme had worked well. I was alone
in Paris as I had planned to be. And now--and now to find where a girl
sang, a girl who looked like Frances Morley.

CHAPTER XV

In Which I Learn that All Abbeys Are Not Churches

And that, now that I really stopped to consider it, beg