” She paused for a moment. Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. Father— dead. " The hooting was instantaneously changed to cheers. "No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. An electric light flashed out from the wall. There was a couple who disappeared. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns.
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