There was one thorn only in all this summer delight--Moll Davenant, moody, a prey to odd whims, possessed now of strange reservations and sudden shrinkings, now frightened, now daring, now boisterous, now brooding, lived feverishly, crowding her life into its little span, her pathetic eyes on her doom, as one who knows how short a while she has to live. More than once, Betty had sold some trinket of her own to get the wherewithal to tempt the uncertain appetite; and Noll, too, was the poorer by more than one little possession which he cheerily said he did not want. Then the girl would disappear for days, returning fagged and troubled, like one drugged. Her flushed colour showed that the flames of her life were burning out the tissues of her frail body, and a feverish desire to live the night as well as the day urged her to frantic bursts of work and of excitement, alternating with long hours of lassitude and a pathetic patience and humility and listless idleness. One day she disappeared and was not heard of for a week; then the news came from far away that she had been seen at the casino at Dieppe with Aubrey. * * * * * At the doors of the Hotel Continental in Paris stood Ponsonby Wattles Ffolliott, talking to Quogge Myre; Rupert Greppel and Lord Monty Askew stood at either hand; they gazed superciliously at the passers-by. Ponsonby Ffolliott, blowing cigarette smoke through his nostrils, said, drawling: “It’s an awful bore--but Lady Boone is throwing her girl at my head--an awfully pretty girl, she is, by Jove--but, you know, a fellow must have his fling first--or how is a fellow to know he loves the girl--and I am really quite too young----” They slapped him on the back, and there was laughter. Ponsonby Ffolliott felt the glory of a man of the world jumping in his marrow; he kicked out his legs: “Yes,” he said affectedly. “The old trout made me swear to go down to Enghien-les-Bains for lunch. Such a silly hole--such a silly meal--but, you know, a fellow isn’t bound by a promise made under compulsion, is he?” Ponsonby blew out smoke: “By Jove,” he said, staring at a girl, one of a bevy that passed, who glanced a roguish eye at him--“what a very pretty girl!” Ponsonby kicked out his legs jauntily; and followed the girl. And, as he walked, the long white laces of his stays hung down behind and swung to his strutting. CHAPTER LVI _Wherein it is suspected that there has been Peeping through Windows_ August and September passed, and the fever went out of the hot breath of the sun; October came into the city in cooler fashion and more russet habit. The scent of autumn in the air brought the students scrambling back from the country, and the Boule Miche knew their light gait and cheery voice once more.