"
"My poor darling ought to go back. He's away from the office without
leave, and he may get the sack; but he's going to stay another night.
Can you come now? Mamma is in the salon. Come just to say a word to
her and we will go out together. Donald is waiting at the corner."
Next morning as I was shaving I heard a knock at my door.
"_Entre!_"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, but I didn't want to miss you. I'll wait for
you in the salon."
When I came downstairs she showed me a wedding ring. She had married
Donald, or said she had.
"Oh, I am tired. I hate going to the shops, and now mamma wants me to
go shopping with her. Can't you stay and talk to me, and later on we
might sneak out together and go somewhere?... Are you painting
to-day?"
"Well, no, I'm going to a museum a long way from here. I have never
seen Madame de Sevigne's house."
"Who is she?"
"The woman who wrote the famous letters."
"I am afraid I shall only bore you, because I can't talk about books."
"You had better come; you can't stay in this hotel by yourself all the
morning."
There was some reason which I have forgotten why she could not go out
with Donald, and I suppose it was my curiosity in all things human
that persuaded me to yield to her desire to accompany me, though, as I
told her, I was going to visit Madame de Sevigne's house.
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