" But her
shimmering hair was the star of his dreams.
Napping in his room in the afternoon, Mr. Wrenn heard slight
active sounds from her, next room. He hurried down to the stoop.
She stood behind him on the door-step, glaring up and down the
street, as bored and as ready to spring as the Zoo tiger. Mr.
Wrenn heard himself saying to the girl, "Please, miss, do you
mind telling me--I'm an American; I'm a stranger in London--I
want to go to a good play or something and what would I--what
would be good--"
"I don't know, reahlly," she said, with much hauteur.
"Everything's rather rotten this season, I fancy." Her voice
ran fluting up and down the scale. Her a's were very broad.
"Oh--oh--y-you _are_ English, then?"
"Yes!"
"Why--uh--"
"_Yes!_"
"Oh, I just had a fool idea maybe you might be French."
"Perhaps I am, y' know. I'm not reahlly English," she said, blandly.
"Why--uh--"
"What made you think I was French? Tell me; I'm interested."
"Oh, I guess I was just--well, it was almost make-b'lieve--how
you had a castle in France--just a kind of a fool game.
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