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 need be thought of a middle-aged man's walking about the neighbourhood of his own hotel with a lady not intimate with his wife. Of course, after Mr. Shuler's merry revelations, even a wife not decisively "Middle Class" might warrantably become somewhat excitedly inquisitive; but Olivia's manœuvre was before Mr. Shuler spoke. It seemed to be plain, therefore, that although the daughter herself had probably no criticism to make of her father's behaviour, she was alarmed for him because of something familiar to her in her mother's character. Indeed, by the time Mr. Shuler's plans for a pleasant evening were perfected, she seemed to be more than alarmed. Unless Ogle's impression was at fault, her anticipations were preoccupied with an accomplished calamity.

"Look at that!" Mr. Shuler exclaimed. "Didn't I tell you?"

But his half-suppressed chuckling was the only sound upon the roof. Leaning nearer to her American friend—and it might be thought almost tenderly—as they stood smilingly face to face, Mme. Momoro did something that upon the instant of her leaning Ogle was sickeningly sure she would do. She gave Tinker a pat or two upon his stalwart right shoulder,