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 your attention to someone else; just when she was having the time of her life with you.—Did Marthe Ludérac read?'

'Naturally. The old lady wouldn't have been cross if she hadn't read.'

'But I somehow thought she'd have prevented it; circumvented you by some trick or plan.'

'She'd have liked to, of course; only she was afraid of losing me altogether if she did,' Graham analysed the old lady's dilemma.

'Oh, it is too bad, you know. You're bound to her more than ever now;—I hope you realize that;—and to let her see she's not to lose you.'

'Ah, well, that will still depend on her; on her behaviour,' laughed Graham, enjoying, apparently, the gross complacency of his own attitude. But Jill felt something else under the complacency. He still stood above her.

'Did you get a talk with Marthe?' she now inquired.

'A talk? How should I?'

'Well, I suppose you couldn't, since the old lady was there. And after all,' said Jill, 'you didn't expect to talk to her, did you? All you expected was to look at her.'

'Well, I didn't look at her, either. She sat behind me.—How long to lunch?' he asked.

The bronze horseman stood, disconcertingly, above five o'clock.

'Only fifteen minutes, I think.—What an awful day!' Jill glanced at the windows.