ppose Paris is very, very distracting. You must come
and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall
forgive you for not having written to any of us."

Mr. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations
around the table.

"Thank you, ma'am. Glad to get back, I'm sure," he said briskly.
"Looks like old times here, I see. Sorry I'm a bit late the first
evening. Got detained in the City, and----"

Then he met the fixed, breathless gaze of those wonderful eyes from
the other side of the table, and he, too, broke off in the middle of
his sentence. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. His
large, coarse lips drew wider apart. Slowly a mirthless and very
unpleasant smile dawned upon his face.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed huskily. "Why--it's--it's you!"

Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. The girl
regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. Only in her eyes there seemed
to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man's clothes and
manners were alike undesirable things.

"Are you speaking to me?" she asked calmly. "I am afraid that you are
making a mistake. I am quite sure that I do not know you."

A dull flush burned upon his cheeks. He took his seat at the table,
but leaned forward to address her. A note of belligerency had crept
into his tone.

"Don't know me, eh? I like that. You are--or rather you were----" he
corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, "Miss Pellissier,
eh?"

A little sensation followed upon his words. Miss Ellicot pursed her
lips and sat a little more upright. The lady whose husband had been
Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. Mrs. White became
conscious of a distinct sense of uneasiness, and showed it in her
face. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who
cared to listen, to be so very particular. On the other hand the two
young men who sat on either side of Anna were already throwing
murderous glances at the newcomer.

"My name," Anna replied calmly, "is certainly Pellissier, but I repeat
that I do not know you. I never have known you."

He unfolded his serviette with fingers which shook all the time. His
eyes never left her face. An ugly flush stained his cheeks.

"I've plenty of pals," he said, "who, when they've been doing Paris on
the Q.T., like to forget all about it--even their names. But you----"

Something seemed to catch his breath. He never finished his sentence.
The