curb. Jefferson jumped from his seat, upsetting his chair and
startling two nervous Frenchmen in his hurry, and hastened out,
hat in hand.

"Why, Miss Rossmore, what are you doing out driving?" he asked.
"You know you and Mrs. Blake promised to dine with me to-night. I
was coming round to the hotel in a few moments."

Mrs. Blake was a younger sister of Shirley's mother. Her husband
had died a few years previously, leaving her a small income, and
when she had heard of her niece's contemplated trip to Europe she
had decided to come to Paris to meet her and incidentally to
chaperone her. The two women were stopping at the Grand Hotel
close by, while Jefferson had found accommodations at the Athénée.

Shirley explained. Her aunt wanted to go to the dressmaker's, and
she herself was most anxious to go to the Luxembourg Gardens to
hear the music. Would he take her? Then they could meet Mrs. Blake
at the hotel at seven o'clock and all go to dinner. Was he
willing?

Was he? Jefferson's face fairly glowed. He ran back to his table
on the _terrasse_ to settle for his Vermouth, astonished the
waiter by not stopping to notice the short change he gave him, and
rushed back to the carriage.

A dirty little Italian girl, shrewd enough to note the young man's
attention to the younger of the American women, wheedled up to the
carriage and thrust a bunch of flowers in Jefferson's face.