'—'They can't,' says I. Do you know, I envy you. Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. Hitchings, who seem to be absolutely engrossed in one another, and a boy of about seventeen, who no sooner got here than he discovered that he wanted to see a man in the promenade and disappeared. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years.
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