A quarter of an hour passed. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be. It’s 180 endearing. Maggot. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. We met dissecting dogfish. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. This was a much more serious task than he anticipated. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. She looked away. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being.
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