“What’s wrong?” He asked as she shifted awkwardly. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. ” She smiled artificially as she scanned the audience and located John. ‘Though he didn’t mean it.
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