We always go out to dinner on holidays. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. The crowd dispersed in different directions, and most fortunately a heavy shower coming on, put them altogether to flight. I spied a small picture of them in your house, though. Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment. Good riddance.
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