Hang the wench! Roding was right. She reached for the door handle. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. He drew a little breath and stepped back. " "We shall expect you to-morrow," insinuated Mrs. Perhaps you’ve heard—?’ Well, you know, he had. Don’t take my word for it though. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door.
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