He made a vague gesture. A week’s Seine water had flowed beneath the bridges since he had first walked up the Rue de la Paix with Mrs. Fontaine, and that week had been full of interest, morbid and otherwise. Not only did he hug himself in his imaginary wrap of diabolical wickedness, but also—if he could admit the truth—he was enjoying himself enormously in the most blameless fashion. Mrs. Fontaine showing no particular desire to leave Paris, he had adjourned his own departure _sine die_. “I am remaining some time yet,” he replied. “In the interests of Prehistoric Man?” The implication was brutal. Two little red spots rose to Mrs. Fontaine’s cheeks. She conceived a sudden hatred for the rough-voiced, keen-eyed creature with her untidy hair and caricature of a hat. A retort; containing the counter-implication of Clementina’s resemblance to a prehistoric woman, was tempting. But it would lay herself open to obvious attack. She laughed. “We are all helping Dr. Quixtus to recover from Prehistoric Man. He has just been attending an Anthropological Congress.” “Umph!” said Clementina. “Where are you staying, Uncle Ephraim?” asked Tommy. “At the Hôtel Continental.” “I’ll come and look you up—to-night or to-morrow morning.” Why should he not treat Quixtus as hard-hearted uncles are treated in the story-books? _Videlicet_, why should not Etta and himself go hand in hand before him, tell him their tragic and romantic history, and, falling pathetically on their knees, beg for his blessing and subvention? To thrust so fair a flower as Etta from him—surely he could not be as crazy as all that? But Quixtus threw cold water on the ardent fancy. “I’m sorry to say that both to-night and to-morrow morning I shall be engaged.” “Then I’ll look you up in London when you get back,” said Tommy cheerfully. A gangway to the door being now clear, Clementina made perfunctory adieux to Quixtus and his friends; and henlike, marshalling her two chickens in front of her, sailed out of the tea-room. “He doesn’t look at all horrid,” said Etta, when they reached the street. “I wonder what makes him behave so. And how generous of you, Tommy, to be so sweet to him!” Tommy smiled as if he were compact of lofty qualities. “I’ve been blessing him all the time,” he whispered in her ear, “for if it hadn’t been for his craziness I shouldn’t be here with you.” Clementina trudged on in silence until they turned into the Rue Saint-Honoré, where their hotel was situated. Then she said suddenly: “I don’t like your uncle, and I don’t like his friends. I’m sorry we ran into them. If we stayed on in Paris we should be running into them every day. I’m glad we’re clearing out to-morrow.” Whereupon the Elf, who had returned from Elfland to haunt her, laughed immoderately; for he knew that at the bureau of the hotel a telegram was awaiting her. CHAPTER XV