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MRS. WINDERMERE
on one side and the little secret smile. "Ideas, ideas, coming and going. . . . And now! You to your shoppingses and I—well, childie?"
"Please, the bill," said Esmée to the waitress. "You must let me, please," she whispered to Mrs. Windermere.
"No, I don't like——— Oh well, well. I haven't got a Wilfred. Thanks, dear child!"
"They pushed their chairs back and went downstairs together. At the door, Esmée drew a valedictory breath. "It's been ever so nice," she said. "Lovely. Such a bit of luck! And now, I suppose———"
"Which way? Oh, Peter Robinson's? Well, I'll come with you. It doesn't matter about my little shoppingses."
Firmly encircling Esmée's wrist with a thumb and forefinger she led her down Regent Street.
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