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292 "She is a rather evil-minded old party," said Mrs. Millidew, the younger, bowing to the occupants of an automobile which was moving slowly in the same direction down the Avenue.

A lady in the rear seat of the limousine leaned forward to peer at the widow's companion, who raised his hat,—but not in greeting. The man who slumped down in the seat beside her, barely lifted his hat. A second later he sat up somewhat hastily and stared.

The occupants of the car were Mrs. Smith-Parvis,—a trifle haggard about the eyes,—and her son Stuyvesant.

Young Mrs. Millidew laughed. "Evidently they recognize you, Mr. Temple, in spite of your spats and stick."

"I thought I was completely disguised," said he, twirling his stick.

"Good-bye," said she, at the corner. She held out her hand. "It is very nice to have known you, Mr. Eric Temple. Our nutual acquaintance, the impeccable Trotter, has my address if you should care to avail yourself of it. After the end of June, I shall be on Long Island."

"It is very good of you, Mrs. Millidew," he said, clasping her hand. His hat was off. The warm spring sun gleamed in his curly brown hair. "I hope to be in England before the end of June." He hesitated a moment, and then said: "Lady Temple and I will be happy to welcome you at Fenlew Hall when you next visit England. Good-bye."

She watched him stride off down the Avenue. She