star-powdered sky.

And then Dampier turned and caught her, this time unresisting, yielding
joyfully, to his breast. "Nancy?" he murmured thickly. "Nancy? I'm afraid!"

"Afraid?" she repeated wonderingly.

"Yes, horribly afraid! Pray, my pure angel, pray that the gods may indulge
their cruel sport elsewhere. I haven't always been happy, Nancy."

And she clung to him, full of vague, unsubstantial fears. "Don't talk like
that," she murmured. "It--it isn't right to make fun of such things."

"Make fun? Good God!" was all he said.

And then his mood changed. They were now being shaken across the huge,
uneven paving stones of the quays, and so on to a bridge. "I never really
feel at home in Paris till I've crossed the Seine," he cried joyously.
"Cheer up, darling, we shall soon be at the Hotel Saint Ange!"

"Have you ever stayed in the Hotel Saint Ange?" she said, with a touch of
curiosity in her voice.

"I used to know a fellow who lived there," he said carelessly. "But what
made me pick it out was the fact that it's such a queer, beautiful old
house, and with a delightful garden. Also we shall meet no English there."

"Don't you like English people?" she asked, a little protestingly.

And Dampier laughed. "I like them everywhere but in Paris," he said: and