was before. He must have been keeping it up steadily ever since
the day out in the country when Tom lifted his watch. It'll take
more than one lost watch to cure Edward.

"I--followed you home, Miss Murieson," he said, grabbing me by
the hand and pushing the door closed behind him. "Or is it Miss
Murieson? Which is your stage name, and which your real one? And
have you really learned to remember it? For my part, any old name
will smell as sweet, now that I'm close to the rose."

I jerked my hand away from him.

"I didn't ask you to call," I said, haughty as the Dowager
herself was when first I saw her in her gorgeous parlor, the
Bishop's card in her hand.

"No, I noticed that," he roared jovially. "You skinned out the
front door the moment you saw me. All that was left to me was to
skin after."

"Why?"

"Why!" He slapped his leg as though he'd heard the best joke in
the world. "To renew our acquaintance, of course. To ask you if
you wouldn't like me to buy you a red coat and hat like the one
you left behind you that day over in Philadelphia, when you cut
your visit so short. To insist upon my privilege of relationship.
To call that wink you gave me in the hall that day, you little
devil. Now, don't look at me like that. I say, let's be friends;
won't you?"