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 "I do," he said. "I do, indeed—under the circumstances."

"And since your—since Madame Momoro"

He looked up at her grimly. "No; I don't think Madame Momoro is dining with her French friends. Not after reading this!"

"But you mustn't" she began quickly, and stopped as abruptly.

"I mustn't what?"

"You mustn't misunderstand Papa, Mr. Ogle," she said earnestly. "I'm afraid you might. It's easy to see how long it would take a man like you to understand a man like him. I don't know if you ever could."

"Perhaps not."

"You see in the first place" She stopped again; then she said impulsively: "You see you live in New York and that would make it almost impossible for you to understand how really good Papa is."

She was right about that, for Ogle's skepticism appeared to be elaborate, although he limited his comment to two words and spoke them quietly. "Is he?"

"Is he?" she cried. "He's more than good, he's innocent! He's childlike! The poor goose tells stories to my mother that an eight-year-old boy would