It generalized everything she put to it. Michelle winked at her and left to join the gathering of seats in the center of the theater. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. “Where should we go?” Knowing that they would be dogged wherever they went, she volunteered, “Let’s go to the Big Apple. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. Don't worry about me.
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