lette, all its suave juiciness
contained in film as fine as goldbeater's skin.

"Yes, it's good." He was delighted, childlike, at the success of his
cookery. His gaiety kept the careworn woman in rare laughter during the
meal. She lost all consciousness that he was a strange man plunged down
suddenly in the midst of her old maidish existence--and a strange man,
too, who had once behaved in a most outrageous fashion. But that was
ever the way of Aristide. The moment you yielded to his attraction he
made you feel that you had known him for years. His fascination
possessed you.

"Miss Anne," said he, smoking a cigarette, at her urgent invitation, "is
there a poor woman in Beverly Stoke with whom I could lodge?"

She gasped. "You lodge in Beverly Stoke?"

"Why yes," said Aristide, as if it were the most natural thing in the
world. "I am engaged in the city from ten to five every day. I can't
come here and go back to London every night, and I can't stay a whole
week without my little Jean. And I have my duty to Jean. I stand to him
in the relation of a father. I must help you to nurse him and make him
better. I must give him soup and apples and ice cream and----"

"You would kill the darling in five minutes," interrupted Miss Anne.

He waved his forefinger in the air. "No, no, I have nursed the sick in
my time. My dear friend," said he, with a change of tone, "when did you
go to bed last?"

"I don't know," she answered in some confusion. "The district nurse has
helped me--and the doctor has been very good. Jean has turned the corner
now. Please don't worry. And as for your coming to live down here, it's
absurd."

"Of course, if you formally forbid me to do so, mademoiselle, and if you
don't want to see me----"

"How can you say a thing like that? Haven't I shown you to-day that you
are welcome?"

"Dear Miss Anne," said he, "forgive me. But what is that great vast town
of London to me who know nobody there? Here in this tiny spot is
concentrated all I care for in the world. Why shouldn't I live in it?"

"You would be so dreadfully uncomfortable," said Miss Anne, weakly.

"Bah!" cried Aristide. "You talk of discomfort to an old client of
_L'Hotel de la Belle Etoile_?"

"The Hotel of the Beautiful Star? Where is that?" asked the innocent
lady.

"Wherever you like," said Aristide. "Your bed is dry leaves and your
bed-curtains, if you demand luxury, are a hedge, and your ceiling, if
you are fortunate, is ornamen