Wrenn doing--dashing over to the
Euston Station to find out how soon and where he could get a
train for Liverpool and a boat for America.
A girl was approaching the house. He viewed her carelessly,
then intently. It was the freak lady of Mrs. Cattermole's Tea
House--the corsetless young woman of the tight-fitting crash gown
and flame-colored hair. She was coming up the steps of his house.
He made room for her with feverish courtesy. She lived in the
same house--He instantly, without a bit of encouragement from
the uninterested way in which she snipped the door to, made up
a whole novel about her. Gee! She was a French countess, who
lived in a reg'lar chateau, and she was staying in Bloomsbury
incognito, seeing the sights. She was a noble. She was--
Above him a window opened. He glanced up. The countess incog.
was leaning out, scanning the street uncaringly. Why--her
windows were next to his! He was living next room to an unusual
person--as unusual as Dr. Mittyford.
He hurried up-stairs with a fervid but vague plan to meet her.
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