ohn's ran: "Am in Paris at European.
Please write. Anxious to hear. Everything decided for the best.--John."
Mary's to Charlie was even briefer; it said, "Am here at European. Why
no answer to last?"

"It's really very kind of Mr. Ashforth," said Dora to Charlie, as they
strolled in the garden of the Tuileries, "to make such a point of what
I think. I expect the wire that stupid Mr. Laing lost was just to tell
me the date of the marriage."

"Not a doubt of it. Miss Tr--Mrs. Ashforth's wire to me makes that
clear. They want to hear that we're not desperately unhappy. Well, we
aren't, are we, Dolly?"

"Well, perhaps not."

"Isn't it extraordinary how we mistook our feelings? Of course, though,
it's natural in you. You had never been through anything of the sort
before. How could you tell whether it was the real thing or not?"

Dora shot a glance out of the corner of her eye at her lover, but did
not disclaim the innocence he imputed to her; she knew men liked to
think that, and why shouldn't they, poor things? She seized on his
implied admission and carried the war into his country.

"But you,--you who are so experienced--how did you come to make such a
mistake?"

Charlie was not at a loss.

"It wasn't a mistake _then_," he said. "I was quite right then. Mary
Travers was about the nicest girl I had ever seen. I thought her as
charming as a girl could be."

"Oh, you did! Then why----"

"My eyes have been opened since then."

"What did that?"

"Why don't you ever pronounce my name?"

"Never mind your name. What opened your eyes?"

"Why, yours, of course."

"What nonsense! They're very nice about it, aren't they? Do you think
we ought to call?"

"Shall you feel it awkward?"

"Yes, a little. Shan't you? Still we must let them know we're here.
Will you write to Mrs. Ashforth?"

"I suppose I'd better. After lunch 'll do, won't it?"

"Oh, yes. And I'll write a note to him. I expect they won't be staying
here long."

"I hope not. Hullo, it's a quarter past twelve. We must be getting
back. Laing's coming to lunch."

"Where arc the Deanes?"

"Lady Deane's gone to Belleville with your father to see slums, and
Roger's playing tennis with Laing. He said we weren't to wait lunch.
Are you hungry, Dolly?"

"Not very. It seems only an hour since breakfast."

"How charming of you! We've been walking here since ten o'clock."

"Mr. Ellerton, will you be serious for a minute? I want to say
something import