et something. I guess we're
going out again."

"It's very attractive for the young," Mr. Dosson pleaded to the visitor.

"Well then, I'm one of the young. Do you mind if I go with you?" Mr.
Flack continued to the girl.

"It'll seem like old times, on the deck," she replied. "We're going to
the Bon Marche."

"Why don't you go to the Louvre? That's the place for YOU."

"We've just come from there: we've had quite a morning."

"Well, it's a good place," the visitor a trifle dryly opined.

"It's good for some things but it doesn't come up to my idea for
others."

"Oh they've seen everything," said Mr. Dosson. Then he added: "I guess
I'll go and call Francie."

"Well, tell her to hurry," Miss Delia returned, swinging a glove in each
hand.

"She knows my pace," Mr. Flack remarked.

"I should think she would, the way you raced!" the girl returned with
memories of the Umbria. "I hope you don't expect to rush round Paris
that way."

"I always rush. I live in a rush. That's the way to get through."

"Well, I AM through, I guess," said Mr. Dosson philosophically.

"Well, I ain't!" his daughter declared with decision.

"Well, you must come round often," he continued to their friend as a
leave-taking.

"Oh, I'll come round! I'll have to rush, but I'll do it."

"I'll send down Francie." And Francie's father crept away.

"And please give her some more money!" her sister called after him.

"Does she keep the money?" George Flack enquired.

"KEEP it?" Mr. Dosson stopped as he pushed aside the portiere. "Oh you
innocent young man!"

"I guess it's the first time you were ever called innocent!" cried
Delia, left alone with the visitor.

"Well, I WAS--before I came to Paris."

"Well, I can't see that it has hurt US. We ain't a speck extravagant."

"Wouldn't you have a right to be?"

"I don't think any one has a right to be," Miss Dosson returned
incorruptibly.

The young man, who had seated himself, looked at her a moment.

"That's the way you used to talk."

"Well, I haven't changed."

"And Miss Francie--has she?"

"Well, you'll see," said Delia Dosson, beginning to draw on her gloves.

Her companion watched her, leaning forward with his elbows on the arms
of his chair and his hands interlocked. At last he said interrogatively:
"Bon Marche?"

"No, I got them in a little place I know."

"Well, they're Paris anyway."

"Of course they're Paris. But you can get gloves anywhere."

"You must show me