her breath. Mr. Kennard bent his head "I am Monsieur Kennard."
"And—this gentleman?" The woman motioned with her hand towards Willie Nash.
"This gentleman is my friend; my very good friend."
The woman seemed to hesitate. The two men said nothing. They gave her not the least encouragement At last, apparently arriving at a resolution, coming right into the room, she shut the door.
"This, Monsieur Kennard, is your letter." She held out a letter which Mr. Kennard recognised as the one which he had written. "You said eleven. To me, the hour was a little awkward. But—I am come."
"To whom have I the pleasure of speaking?" asked Mr. Kennard, after a pause, during which he had looked at his friend, and his friend had looked at him.
"To an individual."
Stepping forward Willie Nash advanced a chair. "Permit me to offer mademoiselle a seat" He laid a stress upon the mademoiselle. She did not seem to notice it.
"Thank you. I had rather stand."
There was silence. She stood, seemingly at her ease, her hands at her side, eyeing Mr. Kennard through the thick folds of her veil.
"Mademoiselle"—he followed Mr. Nash's lead—"must forgive my observing that her description of herself as 'an individual' is a little vague."
"Monsieur understands sufficiently what that de-
