proper inquiries about Mrs. March. Kendricks never forgot the
gentleman in the artist, and he was as true to the convenances as if
they had been principles. That was what made Mrs. March like his
stories so much more than the stories of some people who wrote
better. He said he would drop in during the afternoon, and I went
indoors on the pretext of buying a newspaper. Then, without
engaging rooms for Mrs. Deering and Miss Gage, I hurried home.



CHAPTER VIII



"Well, did you get the rooms?" asked my wife as soon as she saw me.

She did not quite call it across the street to me as I came up from
where she sat on the piazza.

"No, I didn't," I said boldly, if somewhat breathlessly.

"Why didn't you? You ought to have gone to the States if they were
full at the Grand Union."

"They were not full, unless Kendricks got their last room."

"Do you mean that HE was there? Mr. Kendricks? If you are hoaxing
me, Basil!"

"I am not, my dear; indeed I'm not," said I, beginning to laugh, and