Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends.
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