was going there as soon as he came back from
London--going right through without stopping?"

"I don't know but he did," said Delia. Then she added: "The mean
coward!"

"Why do you say that? He can't hide at Nice--they can find him there."

"Are they going after him?"

"They want to shoot him--to stab him, I don't know what--those men."

"Well, I wish they would," said Delia.

"They'd better shoot me. I shall defend him. I shall protect him,"
Francie went on.

"How can you protect him? You shall never speak to him again!" her
sister engaged.

Francie had a pause. "I can protect him without speaking to him. I can
tell the simple truth--that he didn't print a word but what I told him."

"I'd like to see him not!" Delia fairly hooted. "When did he grow so
particular? He fixed it up," she said with assurance. "They always do
in the papers--they'd be ashamed if they didn't. Well now he has got to
bring out a piece praising them up--praising them to the skies: that's
what he has got to do!" she wound up with decision.

"Praising them up? They'll hate that worse," Francie returned musingly.

Delia stared. "What on earth then do they want?"

Francie had sunk to the sofa; her eyes were fixed on the carpet. She
gave no reply to this question but presently said: "We had better go
to-morrow, the first hour that's possible."

"Go where? Do you mean to Nice?"

"I don't care where. Anywhere to get away."

"Before Gaston comes--without seeing him?"

"I don't want to see him. When they were all ranting and raving at me
just now I wished he was there--I told them so. But now I don't feel
like that--I can never see him again."

"I don't suppose YOU'RE crazy, are you?" Delia returned.

"I can't tell him it wasn't me--I can't, I can't!" her companion went
on.

Delia planted herself in front of her. "Francie Dosson, if you're going
to tell him you've done anything wrong you might as well stop before you
begin. Didn't you hear how poppa put it?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Francie said listlessly.

"'Don't give up an old friend--there's nothing on earth so mean.' Now
isn't Gaston Probert an old friend?"

"It will be very simple--he'll give me up."

"Then he'll be worse than a worm."

"Not in the least--he'll give me up as he took me. He'd never have asked
me to marry him if he hadn't been able to get THEM to accept me: he
thinks everything in life of THEM. If they cast me off now he'll do just
the same. He'll have