dully.

But Miss Stone did not look at him. "Drive to the Greek's. You
know--where she went before." She would not give herself time to
think--sitting a little forward on the seat--of course the child had
gone to the Greek--to Mr. Achilles.... They should find her in a minute.
There was nothing else to think about--no shadowy fear that had leaped
to meet the look in James's face when it turned to her. The child would
be there--

The carriage drew up before the shop, with its glowing lines of fruit
under the striped awning, and Miss Stone had descended before the wheel
scraped the curb, her glance searching the door and the dim room beyond.
She halted on the threshold, peering in.

A man came from the rear of the room, his hands outstretched to serve
her. The dark, clear face, with its Greek lines, and the eyes that
looked out at her held a welcome. "You do me honour," he said. "I hope
Madame is well--and the little Lady--?" Then he stopped. Something
in Miss Stone's face held him--and his hand groped a little, reaching
toward her--"You--tell me--" he said.

But she did not speak, and the look in her face grew very still.

He turned sharply--calling into the shop behind him, and a boy came
running, his eyes flashing a quick laugh, his teeth glinting.

"I go," said the man, with quick gesture--"You keep shop--I go." He had
taken off his white apron and seized a hat. He touched the woman on the
shoulder. "Come," he said.