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"I," said Clifford blandly, "do fear to tread where you rush in." Twenty-four hours later Selby had completely forgotten Rue Barree. During the week he worked with might and main at the studio, and Saturday night found him so tired that he went to bed before dinner and had a nightmare about a river of yellow ochre in which he was drowning.
Clifford removed his head-covering with an air so plaintive, so appealing, so utterly humble that Rue Barree smiled. The smile was delicious and when Clifford, incapable of sustaining himself on his legs from sheer astonishment, toppled slightly, she smiled again in spite of herself.
"And Roo Barry, or Rue Barree, is to-day an object of adoration to every rapin in the Quarter " "We are not rapins," corrected Elliott. "I am not," returned Clifford, "and I beg to call to your attention, Selby, that these two gentlemen have at various and apparently unfortunate moments, offered to lay down life and limb at the feet of Rue Barree.
I can't sleep; honestly, I'm incapable of eating properly." "Same symptoms noticed in the case of Colette." "Listen, will you?" "Hold on a moment, I know the rest by heart. Now let me ask you something. Is it your belief that Rue Barree is a pure girl?" "Yes," said Clifford, turning red. "Do you love her, not as you dangle and tiptoe after every pretty inanity I mean, do you honestly love her?"
But he never found out anything, and finally gave it up as beyond his comprehension, merely qualifying Clifford as an idiot and reserving his opinion of Rue Barree. And all this time Selby was jealous.
He instantly looked up into the sky, apparently devoured with a thirst for astronomical research, and as he continued his investigations for fully five minutes, the gardener looked up too, and so did a policeman. Then Selby looked at the tips of his boots, the gardener looked at him and the policeman slouched on. Rue Barree had been gone some time.
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