"Who took it thence?" "Thames Darrell; the boy at your side. When is the game?\" She did her best to overhaul her own appearance for 63 the greater part of an hour, blotting lips, fluffing the brush over her face. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. But she veiled her feelings. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. Had this not been the case, he must have refused even to see his Frenchified granddaughter. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down.
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