"That Mr. Probert was me?"
"No; that you were the one he liked."
"Francie Dosson, are you thinking of Mr. Flack?" her sister broke out, suddenly.
"No, not much."
"Well then, what's the matter?"
"You have ideas and opinions; you know whose place it is and what's due and what isn't. You could meet them all."
"Why, how can you say, when that's just what I'm trying to find out!"
"It doesn't matter any way; it will never come off," said Francie.
"What do you mean by that?"
"He'll give me up in a few weeks. I shall do something."
"If you say that again I shall think you do it on purpose!" Delia declared. "Are you thinking of George Flack?" she repeated in a moment.
"Oh, do leave him alone!" Francie replied, in one of her rare impatiences.
"Then why are you so queer?"
"Oh, I'm tired!" said Francie, turning away. And this was the simple truth; she was tired of the consideration her sister saw fit to devote to the question of Mr. Probert's not having, since their return to Paris, brought his belongings to see them. She was overdone with Delia's theories on this subject, which varied from day to day, from the assertion that he was keeping his intercourse with
