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FLAMING

YOUTH

soul had begun to take on fat. Presently her lissome body would follow suit.

Yes; there certainly was someone at the door. She could discern now an impatient stamping. Probably Bobs, although he had said that he could not come before nine te see the baby, who was constantly fretting. Another superfluous trouble in a world of annoyances! We-ell; on the whole it was less bother to go to the door than to look up a maid. Tossing her book aside she walked into the hall. As she passed, she pressed an electric light button. Only one globe out of the cluster responded, and that weakly. “Damn!” said Constance. “I forgot to phone the company.” She threw open the front door. In the storm centre stood a man. He wore a long coat lined with seal, a coat which the luxurious Constance at once appraised and approved, and an astrakhan cap which he lifted, showing fair, close waves of hair. He peered into the dim entry. “Is this
 * he began, and then, in an eager exclamation, “Mona !?

Constance drew a quick breath of shock and amazement. “What!”

““A thousand pardons,” said the stranger. error.”

“A stupid

He spoke with the accent of a cultivated Ameri-

ean, but there was

about him the vague, indefinable

atmosphere of an older, riper, calmer civilisation. “Am I mistaken in supposing this to be Mrs. Fentriss’s home?” he asked courteously. “No. Yes. It is,” answered Constance, still shaken. “T would have telephoned before presenting myself, but the wires are down. What a furious storm! My taxi,”

he added cheerily, “is stalled in your very largest and finest local snowdrift.

Is Mrs. Fentriss in?”