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 had guessed his secret and that Olga's presence was less accidental than it seemed. Floss's patriotism alone might lead her to plot for him. At any rate if he had lost the opportunity for a heart-to-heart talk, he had gained an even more precious opportunity, and as he listened to Floss's weird and rapid polyglot chatter he felt that any confession he might make would be superfluous. Her instinct would serve him far better than any conspiracy he might induce her to enter.

It was pleasant to glide down the broad, sun-bathed stretch of the Champs Elysées seated between these two. Floss did most of the talking; Olga made quick replies. Grover's indolent function was to listen, and occasionally to replenish Floss's vocabulary.

They wandered from jewellers to dressmakers, from Caron's to Sherry's, from the theatres for tickets to Brentano's for American novels. They bought and had loaded into the car most of the articles on Floss's sprawling list and many articles that had been unforeseen. Everywhere the tradesmen made way, and came running up with chairs. For Olga and for Grover it was a continuous marvel,—the sensation of vicarious affluence gave them the first common ground they had had to walk on, on tip-toe, as it seemed to Grover. Secretly he made much of the ease with which Olga lived up to her role of companion. Poor Floss, for all the noble salutations she drew down on her gilded head, was only lumberingly alert to finesses of comportment that Olga could accomplish with the lifting of