” “Quite true,” she answered briskly, “and thanks to you I have succeeded. . “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. I have said that I am but a nun now. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. ’ He grinned. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. ’ She looked up again and smiled sweetly. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord.
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