“Well, you must come round often,” he continued to their friend as a leave-taking. “Oh, I’ll come round! I’ll have to rush, but I’ll do it.” “I’ll send down Francie.” And Francie’s father crept away. “And please give her some more money!” her sister called after him. “Does she keep the money?” George Flack enquired. “KEEP it?” Mr. Dosson stopped as he pushed aside the portiere. “Oh you innocent young man!” “I guess it’s the first time you were ever called innocent!” cried Delia, left alone with the visitor. “Well, I WAS--before I came to Paris.” “Well, I can’t see that it has hurt US. We ain’t a speck extravagant.” “Wouldn’t you have a right to be?” “I don’t think any one has a right to be,” Miss Dosson returned incorruptibly. The young man, who had seated himself, looked at her a moment. “That’s the way you used to talk.” “Well, I haven’t changed.” “And Miss Francie--has she?” “Well, you’ll see,” said Delia Dosson, beginning to draw on her gloves. Her companion watched her, leaning forward with his elbows on the arms of his chair and his hands interlocked. At last he said interrogatively: “Bon Marche?” “No, I got them in a little place I know.” “Well, they’re Paris anyway.” “Of course they’re Paris. But you can get gloves anywhere.” “You must show me the little place anyhow,” Mr. Flack continued sociably. And he observed further and with the same friendliness: “The old gentleman seems all there.” “Oh he’s the dearest of the dear.” “He’s a real gentleman--of the old stamp,” said George Flack. “Well, what should you think our father would be?” “I should think he’d be delighted!” “Well, he is, when we carry out our plans.” “And what are they--your plans?” asked the young man. “Oh I never tell them.” “How then does he know whether you carry them out?” “Well, I guess he’d know it if we didn’t,” said the girl. “I remember how secretive you were last year. You kept everything to yourself.” “Well, I know what I want,” the young lady pursued. He watched her button one of her gloves deftly, using a hairpin released from some mysterious office under her bonnet. There was a moment’s silence, after which they looked up at each other. “I’ve an idea you don’t want me,” said George Flack. “Oh yes, I do--as a friend.” “Of all the mean ways of trying to get rid of a man that’s the meanest!” he rang out. “Where’s the meanness when I suppose you’re not so ridiculous as to wish to be anything more!” “More to your sister, do you mean--or to yourself?” “My sister IS myself--I haven’t got any other,” said Delia Dosson. “Any other sister?” “Don’t be idiotic. Are you still in the same business?” the girl went on. “Well, I forget which one I WAS in.” “Why, something to do with that newspaper--don’t you remember?” “Yes, but it isn’t that paper any more--it’s a different one.” “Do you go round for news--in the same way?” “Well, I try to get the people what they want. It’s hard work,” said the young man.