’ She sighed. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. “Not to-night,” she said. My nerves were in rags. I hope we may never find her again. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again. “It was,” she admitted. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head. Believe me, Anna. His literary instincts began to stir.
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