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 thought smote him. What if Vaudreuil himself failed to keep the appointment? It was entirely on the cards that he had more diverting errands, less innocuous company at his disposal. For all Grover knew to the contrary, one encounter with Vaudreuil's friends had proved him, Grover Thanet, all too unsophisticated. True, he had said very little, and tried very hard not to be astonished at anything, but his very caution might have given the impression of aloofness, of private weighing and judging, of self-consciousness, the unpardonable sin. Perhaps Vaudreuil thought him a bore. Well, there was nothing to do but find out, and he pulled the bell.

The grand proportions of the entrance hall, and the thickness of the red carpet on the stairs gave him a shock. How could such an obviously penurious man live in such a luxurious apartment house? A porter directed him to the second floor front, and he rang nervously. An unfriendly old woman came to the door. Yes, M. Vaudreuil lived here, but her eyes conveyed grave doubt as to the likelihood of his wishing to receive anyone, particularly a stranger. It flashed into Grover's mind that she suspected him of coming to collect a debt.

After a short interval devoted to a muffled colloquy which made him feel exceedingly intrusive, he was admitted and shown to the salon: an enormous room with high windows, through which could be seen dapper little tubs of privet, dripping wet from the drizzle