almost on my head, from
a balcony at Martigny, and there was a photograph----"

"Oh, you didn't see it?"

"That's what Molly asked. I satisfied her that I hadn't."

"Suppose you _had_--before you met me! But never mind. I did find them
at Chambery. They'd just arrived, and I told Molly everything."

"What did she say?"

"Oh, she just lent me some of her clothes, and said they'd take me
with them in the automobile, out of danger's way until we could decide
on a plan. I bought the thing you call a 'mushroom' in a shop, and we
were starting off next morning when--you came along. Well----"

"Well?"

"Molly and Jack were in a very awkward position: for I had said to
Molly that I felt I could never face you again--_never_, anyhow, as
the Boy, and that _he_ had gone out of your life irrevocably. There I
sat in the motor car, and there were you in the street. You can't
imagine how I felt. It would have been horrid for them--your best
friends--to leave you stranded, and--_I_ didn't want that either. I
couldn't help feeling there'd be a tremendous fascination in being so
near you, with my face hidden, you not knowing, if only the strain of
it needn't last too long; and Molly just cut the Gordian knot of the
scrape, as she always does. She assured me that being in the same car
need commit me to _no_ decision as to what I would do in the end.
But--you remember how she drew you out, about your feeling for the
Boy, how you missed him, and how you were going all the way down to
Monte Carlo on the bare chance of his being there? Well, she meant me
to hear every word, and I did. After that--after that--I--_couldn't_
give you up. I don't believe I could, anyway, when I'd straightened
things out in my mind. I'd told you that you would never see the Boy
again, and you never will; but Molly said that was no reason why you
shouldn't see the Boy's sister. I wrote a note from him to you, for
myself to bring to-night, and I thought--I hoped--you might perhaps
believe----"

"You couldn't have hoped it," I broke in. "Say that you came to give
me back my Little Pal, whom you had stolen from me."

"It may be. I don't know, myself. I couldn't foresee what would
happen. As I heard you say, about motoring down steep hills, I just
hurled myself into space, and trusted to Providence."

"Now I understand all that was mysterious in myself," I said. "My
heart, not being such a fool as my head, was trying continually to
telegraph the truth abo