A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. “No, the only person I told before tonight was my mother and father. I'm not sure I'd go out with him anyway. She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. “You do not know what such a relation means. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. “I will take my chance. \" They talked until midnight most nights. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet.
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